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=r— ^J 


CREAKER    THE    PURPLE    GRACKLE.      At   a  distance  he   appears  black 
and  is  called  Crow  Blackbird. 

THE    MALE    COWB1RD.     You  may  know  him  by  his  coffee-brown  head. 


THE  BURGESS  BIRD  BOOK 


FOR  CHILDREN 


BY 


THORNTON   W.    BURGESS 


V    , 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   IN   COLOR   BT 

LOUIS   AGASSIZ   FUERTES 


0 


NON-  REFER? 


SyWAD-CIHS 


QJ 


THE  LIBRARY 

THS  UNIVERSITY  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 

1919 


Copyright,  1919, 
By  Little,  Beown,  and  Compakt. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published,  October,  1919 


Wotfenotr  press 
Set  up  and  eleotrotyped  by  J.  S.  Gushing  Co.,  Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


i 

to 


TO   THE   CHILDREN   AND    THE   BIRDS 

OF   AMERICA    THAT    THE   BONDS    OF   LOVE   AND 

FRIENDSHIP   BETWEEN    THEM   MAY   BE 

STRENGTHENED 

THIS   BOOK   IS    DEDICATED 


PREFACE 

This  book  was  written  to  supply  a  definite  need. 
Its  preparation  was  undertaken  at  the  urgent 
request  of  booksellers  and  others  who  have  felt  the 
lack  of  a  satisfactory  medium  of  introduction  to 
bird  life  for  little  children.  As  such,  and  in  no 
sense  whatever  as  a  competitor  with  the  many 
excellent  books  on  this  subject,  but  rather  to  sup- 
plement these,  this  volume  has  been  written. 

Its  primary  purpose  is  to  interest  the  little  child 
in,  and  to  make  him  acquainted  with,  those 
feathered  friends  he  is  most  likely  to  see.  Because 
there  is  no  method  of  approach  to  the  child  mind 
equal  to  the  story,  this  method  of  conveying  in- 
formation has  been  adopted.  So  far  as  I  am 
aware  the  book  is  unique  in  this  respect.  In  its 
preparation  an  earnest  effort  has  been  made  to 
present  as  far  as  possible  the  important  facts 
regarding  the  appearance,  habits  and  character- 
istics of  our  feathered  neighbors.  It  is  intended  to 
be  at  once  a  story  book  and  an  authoritative  hand- 
book. While  it  is  intended  for  little  children,  it 
is  hoped  that  children  of  larger  growth  may  find 
in  it  much  of  both  interest  and  helpfulness. 

Mr.  Louis  Agassiz  Fuertes,  artist  and  naturalist, 

[vii] 


Preface 

has  marvelously  supplemented  such  value  as  may 
lie  in  the  text  by  his  wonderful  drawings  in  full 
color.  They  were  made  especially  for  this  volume 
and  are  so  accurate,  so  true  to  life,  that  study  of 
them  will  enable  any  one  to  identify  the  species 
shown.  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  Mr.  Fuertes  for 
his  cooperation  in  the  endeavor  to  make  this  book 
of  real  assistance  to  the  beginner  in  the  study  of 
our  native  birds. 

It  is  offered  to  the  reader  without  apologies  of 
any  sort.  It  was  written  as  a  labor  of  love  —  love 
for  little  children  and  love  for  the  birds.  If  -as  a 
result  of  it  even  a  few  children  are  led  to  a  keener 
interest  in  and  better  understanding  of  our 
feathered  friends,  its  purpose  will  have  been  ac- 
complished. 

Thornton  W.  Burgess 


[  viii  j 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface  vii 

I    Jenny  Wren  Arrives      .  -J    ,        .        .        .        1 
Introducing  the  House  Wren. 

II    The  Old  Orchard  Bully       ....        8 
The  English  or  House  Sparrow. 

III  Jenny     Has     a     Good     Word     for     Some 

Sparrows 15 

The  Song,  White-throated  and  Fox  Sparrows. 

IV  Chippy,  Sweetvoice  and  Dotty     ...       22 
The  Chipping,  Vesper  and  Tree  Sparrows. 

V    Peter       Learns     Something     He     Hadn't 

Guessed 30 

The  Bluebird  and  the  Robin. 

VI    An  Old  Friend  in  a  New  Home  ...      38 
The  Phoebe  and  the  Least  Flycatcher. 

VII    The  Watchman  of  the  Old  Orchard  .        .      46 
The  Kingbird  and  the  Great  Crested  Flycatcher. 

VIII    Old  Clothes  and  Old  Houses       ...      54 
The  Wood  Pewee  and  Some  Nesting  Places. 

IX      LONGBILL   AND   TeETER        .      ,      .  .  .  .61 

The  Woodcock  and  the  Spotted  Sandpiper. 

[ix] 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

X    Redwing  and  Yellow  Wing       ...      69 
The  Red-winged  Blackbird  and  the  Golden- 
winged  Flicker. 

XI    Drummers  and  Carpenters         ...      76 

The  Downy,  Hairy  and  Red-headed  Wood- 
peckers. 

XII    Some  Unlike  Relatives       ....      83 
The  Cowbird  and  the  Baltimore  Oriole. 

XIII  More  of  the  Blackbird  Family         .        .      90 
The  Orchard  Oriole  and  the  Bobolink. 

XIV  Bob  White  and  Carol  the  Meadow  Lark      98 
The  So-called  Quail  and  the  Meadow  Lark. 

XV    A  Swallow  and  One  Who  Isn't         .         .     106 

The  Tree  Swallow  and  the  Chimney  Swift. 
XVI    A  Robber  in  the  Old  Orchard  .        .113 

The  Purple  Martin  and  the  Barn  Swallow. 

XVII     More  Robbers      .        .        .        .        .        .120 

The  Crow  and  the  Blue  Jay. 

XVIII    Some  Homes  in  the  Green  Forest  .     128 

The  Crow,  the  Oven  Bird  and  the  Redtailed 
Hawk.  I 

XIX    A  Maker  of  Thunder  and  a  Friend  in 

Black 136 

The  Ruffed  Grouse  and  the  Crow  Blackbird. 

XX    A  Fisherman  Robbed 144 

The  Osprey  and  the  Bald-headed  Eagle. 

XXI    A  Fishing  Party 151 

The  Great  Blue  Heron  and  the  Kingfisher. 

[x] 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XXII 


XXIII 

XXIV 
XXV 


XXVI 

XXVII 
XXVIII 


XXIX 

XXX 
XXXI 


Some  Feathered  Diggers 

The  Bank  Swallow,  the  Kingfisher  and  the 
Sparrow  Hawk. 

Some  Big  Mouths 

The  Nighthawk,  the  Whip-poor-will  and 
Chuck-will's-widow. 

The  Warblers  Arrive      .... 
The  Redstart  and  the  Yellow  Warbler.     , 

Three  Cousins  Quite  Unlike 

The  Black  and  White  Warbler,  the  Mary- 
land Yellow-Throat  and  the  Yellow- 
breasted  Chat. 

Peter  Gets  a  Lame  Neck        .  t     • 

The  Parula,  Myrtle  and  Magnolia  War- 
blers. 

A  New  Friend  and  an  Old  One     . 
The  Cardinal  and  the  Catbird. 

Peter  Sees  Rosebreast  and  Finds 
Redcoat       .         

The  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak  and  the  Scar- 
let Tanager. 

The  Constant  Singers     .... 
The     Red-eyed,     Warbling     and     Yellow- 
throated  Vireos. 

Jenny  Wren's  Cousins     .... 
The  Brown  Thrasher  and  the  Mockingbird. 

Voices  of  the  Dusk  . 

The  Wood,  Hermit  and  Wilson's  Thrushes, 
[xi] 


PAGE 

159 


168 


175 


183 


190 


199 


206 


215 


222 


229 


Contents 

PAGH 

CHAPTER 

XXXH    Peter   Saves   a   Friend   and    Learns 

Something 237 

The  Towhee  and  the  Indigo  Bunting. 

XXXIII  A  Royal  Dresser  and  a  Late  Nester    245 
The  Purple  Linnet  and  the  Goldfinch. 

XXXIV  Mourner  the  Dove  and  Cuckoo         .    253 
The  Mourning  Dove  and  the  Yellow-billed 

Cuckoo. 

XXXV    A  Butcher  and  a  Hummer    .        .        .     261 
The  Shrike  and  the  Ruby-throated  Hum- 
ming-bird. 

XXXVI    A  Stranger  and  a  Dandy     .        .        .    269 
The  English  Starling  and  the  Cedar  Wax- 
wing. 

;  XXXVII    Farewells  and  Welcomes     .        .        .    276 
The  Chickadee. 

XXXVIII    Honker  and  Dippy  Arrive    . 
The  Canada  Goose  and  the  Loon. 


284 


292 


XXXIX    Peter  Discovers  Two  Old  Friends 

The   White-breasted   Nuthatch   and   the 
Brown  Creeper. 

XL    Some  Merry  Seed-Eaters     .        .        .299 
The  Tree  Sparrow  and  the  Junco. 

XLI     More  Friends  Come  with  the  Snow  .     306 
The  Snow  Bunting  and  the  Horned  Lark. 

XLII    Peter  Learns  Something  about  Spooky    313 
The  Screech  Owl. 

[xii] 


Contents 

CHAPTOT  ?A«B 

XLIII    Queer  Feet  and  a  Queerer  Bill      .        .    880 
The  Ruffed  Grouse  and  the  Crossbills. 

XLIV    More  Folks  in  Red 327 

The  Pine  Grosbeak  and  the  Redpoll. 

XLV    Peter    Sees    Two    Terrible    Feathered 

Hunters 334 

The  Goshawk  and  the  Great  Horned  Owl. 

Index 343 


[  xiii  ] 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Creaker  the  Purple  Grackle,  and  the  Male 
Cowbird 


Jenny  Wren .... 
Bully  the  English  Sparrow    . 
Chippy  the  Chipping  Sparrow 
Sweet  Voice  the  Vesper  Sparrow 
Little  Friend  the  Song  Sparrow 
Dotty  the  Tree  Sparrow 
Slaty  the  Junco    . 
Welcome  Robin    . 
Winsome  Blue  Bird 
Chebec  the  Least  Flycatcher 
Dear- Me  the  Phoebe     . 
Scrapper  the  Kingbird 
Redeye  the  Vireo  . 
Longbill  the  Woodcock 
Bob  White    . 
Redwing  the  Blackbird 
Speckles  the  Starling     . 
Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker 
Redhead  the  Woodpecker 
Downy  the  Woodpecker 
Goldie  the  Baltimore  Oriole 
Sammy  Jay  . 
Bubbling  Bob  the  Bobolink 


Frontispiece 

PAGE 

6 
6 
6 
16 
16 
26 
26 
36 
36 
44 
44 
50 
50 
62 
62 
70 
70 
74 
80 
80 
88 
8S 
94 


[XV] 


List  of  Illustrations 


PAGE 

Carol  the  Meadow  Lark 100 

Skimmer  the  Tree  Swallow 

•                 •                 • 

114 

Forktail  the  Barn  Swallow 

>                 •                 •                 i 

114 

134 

Strutter  the  Ruffed  Grouse 

.    l     .         .   i 

140 

.     148 

148 

Rattles  the  Kingfisher  . 

156 

Teeter  the  Spotted  Sandpiper 

156 

Longl*§fc  the  Great  Blue  Heron    . 

.     156 

Boomer  the  Nighthawk 

.     170 

Sunshine  the  Yellow  Warbler 

.     176 

Zee-Zee  the  Redstart    .... 

176 

Seep-Seep  the  Brown  Creeper 

.     176 

Glory  the  Cardinal        .... 

200 

Kitty  the  Catbird          .... 

200 

Redcoat  the  Scarlet  Tanager 

.     210 

Rosebreast  the  Grosbeak 

.     210 

222 

222 

Melody  the  Wood  Thrush    . 

,     230 

Teacher  the  Oven  Bird 

230 

Chicoree  the  Goldfinch 

248 

Hummer  the  Ruby-throated  Hummingbird 

248 

256 

Butcher  the  Northern  Shrike 

264 

264 

Dandy  the  Cedar  Waxwing  (Cherry  Bird) 

272 

Tommy  Tit  the  Chickadee   .... 

280 

Yank- Yank  the  White-Breasted  Nuthatch 

280 

Snowflake  the  Snow  Bunting 

308 

Wanderer  the  Horned  Lark  .... 

308 

Spooky  the  Screech  Owl 

■                 •                 t 

316 

[xvi] 


THE   BURGESS   BIRD   BOOK 
FOR   CHILDREN 


THE   BURGESS  BIRD 
BOOK  FOR  CHILDREN 


CHAPTER  I 


JENNY    WREN   ARRIVES 


Lipperty-lipperty-lip  scampered  Peter  Rabbit 
behind  the  tumble-down  stone  wall  along  one  side 
of  the  Old  Orchard.  It  was  early  in  the  morning, 
very  early  in  the  morning.  In  fact,  jolly,  bright 
Mr.  Sun  had  hardly  begun  his  daily  climb  up  in 
the  blue,  blue  sky.  It  was  nothing  unusual  for 
Peter  to  see  jolly  Mr.  Sun  get  up  in  the  morning. 
It  would  be  more  unusual  for  Peter  not  to  see  him, 
for  you  know  Peter  is  a  great  hand  to  stay  out  all 
night  and  not  go  back  to  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch, 
where  his  home  is,  until  the  hour  when  most  folks 
are  just  getting  out  of  bed. 

Peter  had  been  out  all  night  this  time,  but  he 
wasn't  sleepy,  not  the  least  teeny,  weeny  bit. 
You  see,  sweet  Mistress  Spring  had  arrived,  and 
there  was  so  much  happening  on  every  side,  and 
Peter  was  so  afraid  he  would  miss  something,  that 

[i] 


The,  Burges?  Bird  Book  for  Children 

he  wouldn't  have  slept  at  all  if  he  could  have 
helped  it.  Peter  had  come  over  to  the  Old  Or- 
chard so  early  this  morning  to  see  if  there  had 
been  any  new  arrivals  the  day  before. 

"Birds  are  funny  creatures,"  said  Peter,  as  he 
hopped  over  a  low  place  in  the  old  stone  wall  and 
was  fairly  in  the  Old  Orchard. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!"  cried  a  rather  sharp, 
scolding  voice.  "Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!  You 
don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  Peter 
Rabbit.  They  are  not  funny  creatures  at  all. 
They  are  the  most  sensible  folks  in  all  the  wide 
world." 

Peter  cut  a  long  hop  short  right  in  the  middle, 
to  sit  up  with  shining  eyes.  "Oh,  Jenny  Wren, 
I'm  so  glad  to  see  you !  When  did  you  arrive  ? " 
he  cried. 

"Mr.  Wren  and  I  have  just  arrived,  and  thank 
goodness  we  are  here  at  last,"  replied  Jenny  Wren, 
fussing  about,  as  only  she  can,  in  a  branch  above 
Peter.  "I  never  was  more  thankful  in  my  life  to 
see  a  place  than  I  am  right  this  minute  to  see  the 
Old  Orchard  once  more.  It  seems  ages  and  ages 
since  we  left  it." 

"Well,  if  you  are  so  fond  of  it  what  did  you 
leave  it  for?"  demanded  Peter.  "It  is  just  as 
I  said  before  —  you  birds  are  funny  creatures. 
You  never  stay  put;   at  least  a  lot  of  you  don't. 

[2] 


Jenny  Wren  Arrives 

Sammy  Jay  and  Tommy  Tit  the  Chickadee  and 
Drummer  the  Woodpecker  and  a  few  others  have 
a  little  sense;  they  don't  go  off  on  long,  foolish 
journeys.     But  the  rest  of  you  — " 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!"  interrupted  Jenny 
Wren.  "You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,  and  no  one  sounds  so  silly  as  one  who 
tries  to  talk  about  something  he  knows  nothing 
about." 

Peter  chuckled.  "That  tongue  of  yours  is 
just  as  sharp  as  ever,"  said  he.  "But  just  the 
same  it  is  good  to  hear  it.  We  certainly  would 
miss  it.  I  was,  beginning  to  be  a  little  worried 
for  fear  something  might  have  happened  to  you 
so  that  you  wouldn't  be  back  here  this  summer. 
You  know  me  well  enough,  Jenny  Wren,  to  know 
that  you  can't  hurt  me  with  your  tongue,  sharp 
as  it  is,  so  you  may  as  well  save  your  breath  to 
tell  me  a  few  things  I  want  to  know.  Now  if 
you  are  as  fond  of  the  Old  Orchard  as  you  pre- 
tend to  be,  why  did  you  ever  leave  it  ? " 

Jenny  Wren's  bright  eyes  snapped.  "Why  do 
you  eat?"  she  asked  tartly. 

"Because  I'm  hungry,"  replied  Peter  promptly. 

"What  would  you  eat  if  there  were  nothing  to 
eat?"  snapped  Jenny. 

That's  a  silly  question,"  retorted  Peter. 
No  more  silly  than  asking  me  why  I  leave 

[3] 


til 
(< 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

the  Old  Orchard,"  replied  Jenny.  "Do  give  us 
birds  credit  for  a  little  common  sense,  Peter. 
We  can't  live  without  eating  any  more  than  you 
can,  and  in  winter  there  is  no  food  at  all  here  for 
most  of  us,  so  we  go  where  there  is  food.  Those 
who  are  lucky  enough  to  eat  the  kinds  of  food 
that  can  be  found  here  in  winter  stay  here.  They 
are  lucky.  That's  what  they  are  —  lucky. 
Still — "     Jenny  Wren  paused. 

"Still  what?"  prompted  Peter. 

"I  wonder  sometimes  if  you  folks  who  are  at 
home  all  the  time  know  just  what  a  blessed  place 
home  is,"  replied  Jenny.  "It  is  only  six  months 
since  we  went  south,  but  I  said  it  seems  ages, 
and  it  does.  The  best  part  of  going  away  is 
coming  home.  I  don't  care  if  that  does  sound 
rather  mixed ;  it  is  true  just  the  same.  It  isn't 
home  down  there  in  the  sunny  South,  even  if  we 
do  spend  as  much  time  there  as  we  do  here.  This 
is  home,  and  there's  no  place  like  it!  What's 
that,  Mr.  Wren?  I  haven't  seen  all  the  Great 
World  ?  Perhaps  I  haven't,  but  I've  seen  enough 
of  it,  let  me  tell  you  that !  Any  one  who  travels 
a  thousand  miles  twice  a  year  as  we  do  has  a 
right  to  express  an  opinion,  especially  if  they 
have  used  their  eyes  as  I  have  mine.  There  is 
no  place  like  home,  and  you  needn't  try  to  tease 
me   by   pretending   that   there    is.     My   dear,   I 

[4] 


Jenny  Wren  Arrives 

know  you ;  you  are  just  as  tickled  to  be  back 
here  as  I  am." 

"He  sings  as  if  he  were,"  said  Peter,  for  all  the 
time  Mr.  Wren  was  singing  with  all  his  might. 

Jenny  Wren  looked  over  at  Mr.  Wren  fondly. 
"Isn't  he  a  dear  to  sing  to  me  like  that?  And 
isn't  it  a  perfectly  beautiful  spring  song?"  said 
she.  Then,  without  waiting  for  Peter  to  reply, 
her  tongue  rattled  on.  "I  do  wish  he  would  be 
careful.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid  he  will  overdo. 
Just  look  at  him  now  !  He  is  singing  so  hard  that 
he  is  shaking  all  over.  He  always  is  that  way. 
There  is  one  thing  true  about  us  Wrens,  and  this 
is  that  when  we  do  things  we  do  them  with  all 
our  might.  When  we  work  we  work  with  all 
our  might.  When  Mr.  Wren  sings  he  sings  with 
all  his  might." 

"And  when  you  scold  you  scold  with  all  your 
might,"  interrupted  Peter  mischievously. 

Jenny  Wren  opened  her  mouth  for  a  sharp 
reply,  but  laughed  instead.  "I  suppose  I  do 
scold  a  good  deal,"  said  she,  "but  if  I  didn't, 
goodness  knows  who  wouldn't  impose  on  us.  I 
can't  bear  to  be  imposed  on." 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  journey  up  from  the 
sunny  South?"  asked  Peter. 

"Fairly  pleasant,"  replied  Jenny.  "We  took 
it  rather  easily.     Some  birds  hurry  right  through 

[5] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

without  stopping,  and  I  should  think  they  would 
be  tired  to  death  when  they  arrive.  We  rest 
whenever  we  are  tired,  and  just  follow  along  be- 
hind Mistress  Spring,  keeping  far  enough  behind 
so  that  if  she  has  to  turn  back  we  will  not  get 
caught  by  Jack  Frost.  It  gives  us  time  to  get 
our  new  suits  on  the  way.  You  know  everybody 
expects  you  to  have  new  things  when  you  return 
home.  How  do  you  like  my  new  suit,  Peter?" 
Jenny  bobbed  and  twisted  and  turned  to  show  it 
off.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  she  was  very  proud 
of  it. 

"Very  much,"  replied  Peter.  "I  am  very  fond 
of  brown.  Brown  and  gray  are  my  favorite 
colors."  You  know  Peter's  own  coat  is  brown 
and  gray. 

"That  is  one  of  the  most  sensible  things  I  have 
heard  you  say,"  chattered  Jenny  Wren.  "The 
more  I  see  of  bright  colors  the  better  I  like  brown. 
It  always  is  in  good  taste.  It  goes  well  with  almost 
everything.  It  is  neat  and  it  is  useful.  If  there 
is  need  of  getting  out  of  sight  in  a  hurry  you  can 
do  it  if  you  wear  brown.  But  if  you  wear  bright 
colors  it  isn't  so  easy.  I  never  envy  anybody 
who  happens  to  have  brighter  clothes  than  mine. 
I've  seen  dreadful  things  happen  all  because  of 
wearing  bright  colors." 

"What?"  demanded  Peter. 

[6] 


n  [ 

J  1 

JENNY    WREN.      This  is   the   saucy   little   House   Wren    who    builds   near   your 
home. 


BULLY    THE    ENGLISH    SPARROW,  the  common  sparrow  of   the    streets. 
CHIPPY   THE   CHIPPING   SPARROW,  the  smallest  of  the  family. 


Jenny  Wren  Arrives 

"I'd  rather  not  talk  about  them,"  declared 
Jenny  in  a  very  emphatic  way.  "  'Way  down 
where  we  spent  the  winter  some  of  the  feathered 
folks  who  live  there  all  the  year  round  wear  the 
brightest  and  most  beautiful  suits  I've  ever  seen. 
They  are  simply  gorgeous.  But  I've  noticed  that 
in  times  of  danger  these  are  the  folks  dreadful 
things  happen  to.  You  see  they  simply  can't 
get  out  of  sight.  For  my  part  I  would  far  rather 
be  simply  and  neatly  dressed  and  feel  safe  than 
to  wear  wonderful  clothes  and  never  know  a 
minute's  peace.  Why,  there  are  some  families 
I  know  of  which,  because  of  their  beautiful  suits, 
have  been  so  hunted  by  men  that  hardly  any  are 
left.  But  gracious,  Peter  Rabbit,  I  can't  sit  here 
all  day  talking  to  you !  I  must  find  out  who  else 
has  arrived  in  the  Old  Orchard  and  must  look  my 
old  house  over  to  see  if  it  is  fit  to  live  in." 


[7] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   OLD    ORCHARD    BULLY 

Peter  Rabbit's  eyes  twinkled  when  Jenny- 
Wren  said  that  she  must  look  her  old  house  over 
to  see  if  it  was  fit  to  live  in.  "I  can  save  you  that 
trouble,"  said  he. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Jenny's  voice  was 
very  sharp. 

"Only  that  your  old  house  is  already  occupied," 
replied  Peter.  "Bully  the  English  Sparrow  has 
been  living  in  it  for  the  last  two  months.  In 
fact,  he  already  has  a  good-sized  family  there." 

"What?"  screamed  Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  to- 
gether. Then  without  even  saying  good -by  to 
Peter,  they  flew  in  a  great  rage  to  see  if  he  had 
told  them  the  truth.  Presently  he  heard  them 
scolding  as  fast  as  their  tongues  could  go,  and  this 
is  very  fast  indeed. 

"Much  good  that  will  do  them,"  chuckled 
Peter.  "They  will  have  to  find  a  new  house  this 
year.  All  the  sharp  tongues  in  the  world  couldn't 
budge  Bully  the  English  Sparrow.  My,  my,  my, 
my,  just  hear  that  racket !  I  think  I'll  go  over 
and  see  what  is  going  on." 

[8] 


The  Old  Orchard  Bully 

So  Peter  hopped  to  a  place  where  he  could  get 
a  good  view  of  Jenny  Wren's  old  home  and  still 
not  be  too  far  from  the  safety  of  the  old  stone 
wall.  Jenny  Wren's  old  home  had  been  in  a 
hole  in  one  of  the  old  apple-trees.  Looking  over 
to  it,  Peter  could  see  Mrs.  Bully  sitting  in  the 
little  round  doorway  and  quite  filling  it.  She 
was  shrieking  excitedly.  Hopping  and  flitting 
from  twig  to  twig  close  by  were  Jenny  and  Mr. 
Wren,  their  tails  pointing  almost  straight  up  to 
the  sky,  and  scolding  as  fast  as  they  could  make 
their  tongues  go.  Flying  savagely  at  one  and 
then  at  the  other,  and  almost  drowning  their 
voices  with  his  own  harsh  cries,  was  Bully  him- 
self. He  was  perhaps  one  fourth  larger  than 
Mr.  Wren,  although  he  looked  half  again  as  big. 
But  for  the  fact  that  his  new  spring  suit  was  very 
dirty,  due  to  his  fondness  for  taking  dust  baths 
and  the  fact  that  he  cares  nothing  about  his 
personal  appearance  and  takes  no  care  of  himself, 
he  would  have  been  a  fairly  good-looking  fellow. 
His  back  was  more  or  less  of  an  ashy  color  with 
black  and  chestnut  stripes.  His  wings  were 
brown  with  a  white  bar  on  each.  His  throat  and 
breast  were  black,  and  below  that  he  was  of  a 
dirty  white.  The  sides  of  his  throat  were  white 
and  the  back  of  his  neck  chestnut. 

By  ruffling  up  his  feathers  and  raising  his  wings 

[9] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

slightly  as  he  hopped  about,  he  managed  to  make 
himself  appear  much  bigger  than  he  really  was. 
He  looked  like  a  regular  little  fighting  savage. 
The  noise  had  brought  all  the  other  birds  in  the 
Old  Orchard  to  see  what  was  going  on,  and  every 
one  of  them  was  screaming  and  urging  Jenny  and 
Mr.  Wren  to  stand  up  for  their  rights.  Not  one  of 
them  had  a  good  word  for  Bully  and  his  wife.  It 
certainly  was  a  disgraceful  neighborhood  squabble. 

Bully  the  English  Sparrow  is  a  born  fighter. 
He  never  is  happier  than  when  he  is  in  the  midst 
of  a  fight  or  a  fuss  of  some  kind.  The  fact  that 
all  his  neighbors  were  against  him  didn't  bother 
Bully  in  the  least.    . 

Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  are  no  cowards,  but  the 
two  together  were  no  match  for  Bully.  In  fact, 
Bully  did  not  hesitate  to  fly  fiercely  at  any  of 
the  onlookers  who  came  near  enough,  not  even 
when  they  were  twice  his  own  size.  They  could 
have  driven  him  from  the  Old  Orchard  had  they 
set  out  to,  but  just  by  his  boldness  and  appear- 
ance he  made  them  afraid  to  try. 

All  the  time  Mrs.  Bully  sat  in  the  little  round 
doorway,  encouraging  him.  She  knew  that  as 
long  as  she  sat  there  it  would  be  impossible  for 
either  Jenny  or  Mr.  Wren  to  get  in.  Truth  to 
tell,  she  was  enjoying  it  all,  for  she  is  as  quarrel- 
some and  as  fond  of  fighting  as  is  Bully  himself.    ; 

[10] 


The  Old  Orchard  Bully 

"You're  a  sneak!  You're  a  robber!  That's 
my  house,  and  the  sooner  you  get  out  of  it  the 
better!"  shrieked  Jenny  Wren,  jerking  her  tail 
with  every  word  as  she  hopped  about  just  out  of 
reach  of  Bully. 

"It  may  have  been  your  house  once,  but  it  is 
mine  now,  you  little  snip-of -nothing  !"  cried  Bully, 
rushing  at  her  like  a  little  fury.  "Just  try  to 
put  us  out  if  you  dare !  You  didn't  make  this 
house  in  the  first  place,  and  you  deserted  it  when 
you  went  south  last  fall.  It's  mine  now,  and 
there  isn't  anybody  in  the  Old  Orchard  who  can 
put  me  out." 

Peter  Rabbit  nodded.  "He's  right  there," 
muttered  Peter.  "I  don't  like  him  and  never 
will,  but  it  is  true  that  he  has  a  perfect  right  to 
that  house.  People  who  go  off  and  leave  things 
for  half  a  year  shouldn't  expect  to  find  them 
just  as  they  left  them.  My,  my,  my,  what  a 
dreadful  noise !  Why  don't  they  all  get  together 
and  drive  Bully  and  Mrs.  Bully  out  of  the  Old 
Orchard?  If  they  don't,  I'm  afraid  he  will  drive 
them  out.  No  one  likes  to  live  with  such  quarrel- 
some neighbors.  They  don't  belong  over  in  this 
country,  anyway,  and  we  would  be  a  lot  better 
off  if  they  were  not  here.  But  I  must  say  I  do 
have  to  admire  their  spunk." 

All   the   time   Bully   was   darting   savagely   at 

[in 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

this  one  and  that  one  and  having  a  thoroughly 
good  time,  which  is  more  than  could  be  said  of 
any  one  else,  except  Mrs.  Bully. 

"I'll  teach  you  folks  to  know  that  I  am  in  the 
Old  Orchard  to  stay!"  shrieked  Bully.  "If  you 
don't  like  it,  why  don't  you  fight?  I  am  not 
afraid  of  any  of  you  or  all  of  you  together."  This 
was  boasting,  plain  boasting,  but  it  was  effective. 
He  actually  made  the  other  birds  believe  it.  Not 
one  of  them  dared  stand  up  to  him  and  fight. 
They  were  content  to  call  him  a  bully  and  all  the 
bad  names  they  could  think  of,  but  that  did 
nothing  to  help  Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  recover 
their  house.  Calling  another  bad  names  never 
hurts  him.  Brave  deeds  and  not  brave  words 
are  what  count. 

How  long  that  disgraceful  squabble  in  the  Old 
Orchard  would  have  lasted  had  it  not  been  for 
something  which  happened,  no  one  knows.  Right 
in  the  midst  of  it  some  one  discovered  Black  Pussy, 
the  cat  who  lives  in  Farmer  Brown's  house,  steal- 
ing up  through  the  Old  Orchard,  her  tail  twitch- 
ing and  her  yellow  eyes  glaring  eagerly.  She  had 
heard  that  dreadful  racket  and  suspected  that  in 
the  midst  of  such  excitement  she  might  have  a 
chance  to  catch  one  of  the  feathered  folks.  You 
can  always  trust  Black  Pussy  to  be  on  hand  at  a 
time  like  that. 

[12] 


The  Old  Orchard  Bully 

No  sooner  was  she  discovered  than  everything 
else  was  forgotten.  With  Bully  in  the  lead,  and 
Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  close  behind  him,  all  the 
birds  turned  their  attention  to  Black  Pussy. 
She  was  the  enemy  of  all,  and  they  straightway 
forgot  their  own  quarrel.  Only  Mrs.  Bully  re- 
mained where  she  was,  in  the  little  round  door- 
wav  of  her  house.  She  intended  to  take  no 
chances,  but  she  added  her  voice  to  the  general 
racket.  How  those  birds  did  shriek  and  scream ! 
They  darted  down  almost  into  the  face  of  Black 
Pussy,  and  none  went  nearer  than  Bully  the 
English  Sparrow  and  Jenny  Wren. 

Now  Black  Pussy  hates  to  be  the  center  of  so 
much  attention.  She  knew  that,  now  she  had 
been  discovered,  there  wasn't  a  chance  in  the 
world  for  her  to  catch  one  of  those  Old  Orchard 
folks.  So,  with  tail  still  twitching  angrily,  she 
turned  and,  with  such  dignity  as  she  could,  left 
the  Old  Orchard.  Clear  to  the  edge  of  it  the 
birds  followed,  shrieking,  screaming,  calling  her 
bad  names,  and  threatening  to  do  all  sorts  of 
dreadful  things  to  her,  quite  as  if  they  really  could. 

When  finally  she  disappeared  towards  Farmer 
Brown's  barn,  those  angry  voices  changed.  It 
was  such  a  funny  change  that  Peter  Rabbit 
laughed  right  out.  Instead  of  anger  there  was 
triumph  in  every  note  as  everybody  returned  to 

[13] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

attend  to  his  own  affairs.  Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  about  Bully  and  his 
wife  in  their  old  house.  They  flew  to  another 
part  of  the  Old  Orchard,  there  to  talk  it  all  over 
and  rest  and  get  their  breath.  Peter  Rabbit 
waited  to  see  if  they  would  not  come  over  near 
enough  to  him  for  a  little  more  gossip.  But  they 
didn't,  and  finally  Peter  started  for  his  home  in 
the  dear  Old  Briar-patch.  All  the  way  there  he 
chuckled  as  he  thought  of  the  spunky  way  in 
which  Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  had  stood  up  for 
their  rights. 


[W] 


CHAPTER  III 

JENNY   HAS   A    GOOD    WORD    FOR    SOME    SPARROWS 

The  morning  after  the  fight  between  Jenny 
and  Mr.  Wren  and  Bully  the  English  Sparrow 
found  Peter  Rabbit  in  the  Old  Orchard  again. 
He  was  so  curious  to  know  what  Jenny  Wren 
would  do  for  a  house  that  nothing  but  some  very 
great  danger  could  have  kept  him  away  from 
there.  Truth  to  tell,  Peter  was  afraid  that  not 
being  able  to  have  their  old  house,  Jenny  and  Mr. 
WTren  would  decide  to  leave  the  Old  Orchard 
altogether.  So  it  was  with  a  great  deal  of  relief 
that  as  he  hopped  over  a  low  place  in  the  old  stone 
wall  he  heard  Mr.  Wren  singing  with  all  his  might. 

The  song  was  coming  from  quite  the  other  side 
of  the  Old  Orchard  from  where  Bully  and  Mrs. 
Bully  had  set  up  housekeeping.  Peter  hurried 
over.  He  found  Mr.  Wren  right  away,  but  at 
first  saw  nothing  of  Jenny.  He  was  just  about 
to  ask  after  her  when  he  caught  sight  of  her  with 
a  tiny  stick  in  her  bill.  She  snapped  her  sharp 
little  eyes  at  him,  but  for  once  her  tongue 
was  still.  You  see,  she  couldn't  talk  and  carry 
that  stick  at  the  same  time.     Peter  watched  her 

[15] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

and  saw  her  disappear  in  a  little  hole  in  a  big 
branch  of  one  of  the  old  apple-trees.  Hardly  had 
she  popped  in  than  she  popped  out  again.  This 
time  her  mouth  was  free,  and  so  was  her  tongue. 

"You'd  better  stop  singing  and  help  me,"  she 
said  to  Mr.  Wren  sharply.  Mr.  Wren  obediently 
stopped  singing  and  began  to  hunt  for  a  tiny  little 
twig  such  as  Jenny  had  taken  into  that  hole. 

"Well !"  exclaimed  Peter.  "It  didn't  take  you 
long  to  find  a  new  house,  did  it?" 

"Certainly  not,"  snapped  Jenny.  "We  can't 
afford  to  sit  around  wasting  time  like  some  folks 
I  know." 

Peter  grinned  and  looked  a  little  foolish,  but 
he  didn't  resent  it.  You  see  he  was  quite  used  to 
that  sort  of  thing.  "Aren't  you  afraid  that 
Bully  will  try  to  drive  you  out  of  that  house?" 
he  ventured. 

Jenny  Wren's  sharp  little  eyes  snapped  more 
than  ever.  "I'd  like  to  see  him  try!"  said  she. 
"That  doorway's  too  small  for  him  to  get  more 
than  his  head  in.  And  if  he  tries  putting  his 
head  in  while  I'm  inside,  I'll  peck  his  eyes  out!" 
She  said  this  so  fiercely  that  Peter  laughed  right 
out. 

"I  really  believe  you  would,"  said  he. 

"I  certainlv  would,"  she  retorted.  "Now  I 
can't  stop  to  talk  to  you,  Peter  Rabbit,  because 

[16] 


SWEET    VOICE    THE    VESPER    SPARROW.       You    can    tell    him    from 
other  Sparrows  by  the  white  outer  feathers  of  his  tail. 

LITTLE   FRIEND  THE  SONG  SPARROW.    His  tinkling,    happy    song 
can  never  be  mistaken. 


Jenny  Has  a  Good  Word  for  Some  Sparrows 

I'm  too  busy.  Mr.  Wren,  you  ought  to  know 
that  that  stick  is  too  big."  Jenny  snatched  it 
out  of  Mr.  Wren's  mouth  and  dropped  it  on  the 
ground,  while  Mr.  Wren  meekly  went  to  hunt  for 
another.  Jenny  joined  him,  and  as  Peter  watched 
them  he  understood  why  Jenny  is  so  often  spoken 
of  as  a  feathered  busybody. 

For  some  time  Peter  Rabbit  watched  Jenny 
and  Mr.  Wren  carry  sticks  and  straws  into  that 
little  hole  until  it  seemed  to  him  they  were  trying 
to  fill  the  whole  inside  of  the  tree.  Just  watching 
them  made  Peter  positively  tired.  Mr.  Wren 
would  stop  every  now  and  then  to  sing,  but  Jenny 
didn't  waste  a  minute.  In  spite  of  that  she 
managed  to  talk  just  the  same. 

"I  suppose  Little  Friend  the  Song  Sparrow  got 
here  some  time  ago,"  said  she. 

Peter  nodded.  kYes,"  said  he.  "I  saw  him 
only  a  day  or  two  ago  over  by  the  Laughing 
Brook,  and  although  he  wouldn't  say  so,  I'm 
sure  that  he  has  a  nest  and  eggs  already." 

Jenny  Wren  jerked  her  tail  and  nodded  her 
head  vigorously.  "I  suppose  so,"  said  she.  "He 
doesn't  have  to  make  as  long  a  journey  as  we  do, 
so  he  gets  here  sooner.  Did  you  ever  in  your 
life  see  such  a  difference  as  there  is  between 
Little  Friend  and  his  cousin,  Bully?  Everybody 
loves  Little  Friend." 

[17] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

Once  more  Peter  nodded.  "That's  right," 
said  he.  "Everybody  does  love  Little  Friend. 
It  makes  me  feel  sort  of  all  glad  inside  just  to  hear 
him  sing.  I  guess  it  makes  everybody  feel  that 
way.  I  wonder  why  we  so  seldom  see  him  up 
here  in  the  Old  Orchard." 

"Because  he  likes  damp  places  with  plenty  of 
bushes  better,"  replied  Jenny  Wren.  "It  wouldn't 
do  for  everybody  to  like  the  same  kind  of  a  place. 
He  isn't  a  tree  bird,  anyway.  He  likes  to  be  on 
or  near  the  ground.  You  will  never  find  his  nest 
much  above  the  ground,  not  more  than  a  foot  or 
two.  Quite  often  it  is  on  the  ground.  Of  course 
I  prefer  Mr.  Wren's  song,  but  I  must  admit  that 
Little  Friend  has  one  of  the  happiest  songs  of 
any  one  I  know.  Then,  too,  he  is  so  modest, 
just  like  us  Wrens." 

Peter  turned  his  head  aside  to  hide  a  smile,  for 
if  there  is  anybody  who  delights  in  being  both 
seen  and  heard  it  is  Jenny  Wren,  while  Little 
Friend  the  Song  Sparrow  is  shy  and  retiring, 
content  to  make  all  the  world  glad  with  his  song, 
but  preferring  to  keep  out  of  sight  as  much  as 
possible. 

Jenny  chattered  on  as  she  hunted  for  some  more 
material  for  her  nest.  "  I  suppose  you've  noticed," 
said  she,  "that  he  and  his  wife  dress  very  much 
alike,     They  don't  go  in  for  bright  colors  any 

[18] 


Jenny  Has  a  Good  Word  for  Some  Sparrows 

more  than  we  Wrens  do.  They  show  good  taste. 
I  like  the  little  brown  caps  they  wear,  and  the 
way  their  breasts  and  sides  are  streaked  with 
brown.  Then,  too,  they  are  such  useful  folks. 
It  is  a  pity  that  that  nuisance  of  a  Bully  doesn't 
learn  something  from  them.  I  suppose  they  stay 
rather  later  than  we  do  in  the  fall." 

"Yes,"  replied  Peter.  "They  don't  go  until 
Jack  Frost  makes  them.  I  don't  know  of  any 
one  that  we  miss  more  than  we  do  them." 

"Speaking  of-  the  Sparrow  family,  did  you  see 
anything  of  Whitethroat  ? "  asked  Jenny  Wren, 
as  she  rested  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway  of  her 
new  house  and  looked  down  at  Peter  Rabbit. 

Peter's  face  brightened.  "I  should  say  I  did  ! ': 
he  exclaimed.  "He  stopped  for  a  few  days  on 
his  way  north.  I  only  wish  he  would  stay  here 
all  the  time.  But  he  seems  to  think  there  is  no 
place  like  the  Great  Woods  of  the  North.  I  could 
listen  all  day  to  his  song.  Do  you  know  what 
he  always  seems  to  be  saying  ?  " 

"What?"  demanded  Jenny. 

"I  live  happ-i-ly,  happ-i-ly,  happ-i-ly,"  replied 
Peter.  "I  guess  he  must  too,  because  he  makes 
other  people  so  happy." 

Jenny  nodded  in  her  usual  emphatic  way.  "I 
don't  know  him  as  well  as  I  do  some  of  the  others," 
said  she,  "but  when  I  have  seen  him  down  in 

[19] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

the  South  he  always  has  appeared  to  me  to  be  a 
perfect  gentleman.  He  is  social  too ;  he  likes  to 
travel  with  others." 

"I've  noticed  that,"  said  Peter.  "He  almost 
always  has  company  when  he  passes  through  here. 
Some  of  those  Sparrows  are  so  much  alike  that 
it  is  hard  for  me  to  tell  them  apart,  but  I  can 
always  tell  Wliitethroat  because  he  is  one  of 
the  largest  of  the  tribe  and  has  such  a  lovely 
white  throat.  He  really  is  handsome  with  his 
black  and  white  cap  and  that  bright  yellow  spot 
before  each  eye.  I  am  told  that  he  is  very  dearly 
loved  up  in  the  North  where  he  makes  his  home. 
They  say  he  sings  all  the  time." 

"I  suppose  Scratcher  the  Fox  Sparrow  has 
been  along  too,"  said  Jenny.  "He  also  started 
some  time  before  we  did." 

"Yes,"  replied  Peter.  "He  spent  one  night 
in  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch.  He  is  fine  looking, 
too,  the  biggest  of  all  the  Sparrow  tribe,  and  how 
he  can  sing !  The  only  thing  I've  got  against 
him  is  the  color  of  his  coat.  It  always  reminds 
me  of  Reddy  Fox,  and  I  don't  like  anything  that 
reminds  me  of  that  fellow.  When  he  visited  us 
I  discovered  something  about  Scratcher  which  I 
don't  believe  you  know." 

"What?"  demanded  Jenny  rather  sharply. 

"That  when  he  scratches  among  the  leaves  he 

[20] 


Jenny  Has  a  Good  Word  for  Some  Sparrows 

uses  both  feet  at  once,"  cried  Peter  triumphantly. 
'"It's  funny  to  watch  him." 

"Pooh!  I  knew  that,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren. 
"What  do  you  suppose  my  eyes  are  made  for? 
I  thought  you  were  going  to  tell  me  something  I 
didn't  know." 

Peter  looked  disappointed. 


[21] 


CHAPTER  IV 

CHIPPY,    SWEETVOICE,    AND    DOTTY 

For  a  while  Jenny  Wren  was  too  busy  to  talk 
save  to  scold  Mr.  Wren  for  spending  so  much 
time  singing  instead  of  working.  To  Peter  it 
seemed  as  if  they  were  trying  to  fill  that  tree  trunk 
with  rubbish.  "I  should  think  they  had  enough 
stuff  in  there  for  half  a  dozen  nests,"  muttered 
Peter.  "I  do  believe  they  are  carrying  it  in  for 
the  fun  of  working."  Peter  wasn't  far  wrong  in 
this  thought,  as  he  was  to  discover  a  little  later 
in  the  season  when  he  found  Mr.  Wren  building 
another  nest  for  which  he  had  no  use. 

Finding  that  for  the  time  being  he  could  get 
nothing  more  from  Jenny  Wren,  Peter  hopped 
over  to  visit  Johnny  Chuck,  whose  home  was 
between  the  roots  of  an  old  apple-tree  in  the  far 
corner  of  the  Old  Orchard.  Peter  was  still  think- 
ing of  the  Sparrow  family;  what  a  big  family  it 
was,  yet  how  seldom  any  of  them,  excepting 
Bully  the  English  Sparrow,  were  to  be  found  in 
the  Old  Orchard. 

"Hello,  Johnny  Chuck!"  cried  Peter,  as  he 
discovered  Johnny  sitting  on  his  doorstep.  "You've 

[22] 


Chippy,  Sweetvoice,  and  Dotty 

lived  in  the  Old  Orchard  a  long  time,  so  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  tell  me  something  I  want  to  know. 
"Why  is  it  that  none  of  the  Sparrow  family  except- 
ing that  noisy  nuisance,  Bully,  build  in  the  trees 
of  the  Old  Orchard  ?  Is  it  because  Bully  has 
driven  all  the  rest  out?" 

Johnny  Chuck  shook  his  head.  "Peter,"  said 
he,  "whatever  is  the  matter  with  your  ears? 
And  whatever  is  the  matter  with  your  eyes  ?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Peter  rather  shortly.  "They 
are  as  good  as  yours  any  day,  Johnny  Chuck." 

Johnny  grinned.  "Listen!"  said  Johnny. 
Peter  listened.  From  a  tree  just  a  little  way  off 
came  a  clear  "Chip,  chip,  chip,  chip."  Peter 
didn't  need  to  be  told  to  look.  He  knew  without 
looking  who  was  over  there.  He  knew  that  voice 
for  that  of  one  of  his  oldest  and  best  friends  in 
the  Old  Orchard,  a  little  fellow  with  a  red-brown 
cap,  brown  back  with  feathers  streaked  with 
black,  brownish  wings  and  tail,  a  gray  waistcoat 
and  black  bill,  and  a  little  white  line  over  each 
eye,  —  altogether  as  trim  a  little  gentleman  as 
Peter  was  acquainted  with.  It  was  Chippy,  as 
everybody  calls  the  Chipping  Sparrow,  the 
smallest  of  the  family. 

Peter  looked  a  little  foolish.  "I  forgot  all 
about  Chippy,"  said  he.  "Now  I  think  of  it, 
I  have  found   Chippy  here  in  the  Old  Orchard 

[23] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

ever  since  I  can  remember.  I  never  have  seen 
his  nest  because  I  never  happened  to  think  about 
looking  for  it.  Does  he  build  a  trashy  nest  like 
his  cousin,  Bully?" 

Johnny  Chuck  laughed.  "I  should  say  not!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Twice  Chippy  and  Mrs.  Chippy 
have  built  their  nest  in  this  very  old  apple-tree. 
There  is  no  trash  in  their  nest,  I  can  tell  you ! 
It  is  just  as  dainty  as  they  are,  and  not  a  bit  bigger 
than  it  has  to  be.  It  is  made  mostly  of  little 
fine,  dry  roots,  and  it  is  lined  inside  with  horse- 
hair." 

"What's  that?"  Peter's  voice  sounded  as  if 
he  suspected  that  Johnny  Chuck  was  trying  to 
fool  him. 

"It's  a  fact,"  said  Johnny,  nodding  his  head 
gravely.  "Goodness  knows  where  they  find  it 
these  days,  but  find  it  they  do.  Here  comes 
Chippy  himself;  ask  him." 

Chippy  and  Mrs.  Chippy  came  flitting  from 
tree  to  tree  until  they  were  on  a  branch  right  over 
Peter  and  Johnny.  "Hello  !"  cried  Peter.  "You 
folks  seem  very  busy.  Haven't  you  finished 
building  your  nest  yet  ?" 

"Nearly,"  replied  Chippy.  "It  is  all  done  but 
the  horsehair.  We  are  on  our  way  up  to  Farmer 
Brown's  barnyard  now  to  look  for  some.  You 
haven't  seen  any  around  anywhere,  have  you  ?" 

[24] 


Chippy,  Siveetvoice,  and  Dotty 

Peter  and  Johnny  shook  their  heads,  and 
Peter  confessed  that  he  wouldn't  know  horsehair 
if  he  saw  it.  He  often  had  found  hair  from  the 
coats  of  Reddy  Fox  and  Old  Man  Coyote  and 
Digger  the  Badger  and  Lightfoot  the  Deer,  but 
hair  from  the  coat  of  a  horse  was  altogether 
another  matter. 

"It  isn't  hair  from  the  coat  of  a  horse  that  we 
want,"  cried  Chippy,  as  he  prepared  to  fly  after 
Mrs,  Chippy.  "It  is  long  hair  from  the  tail  or 
mane  of  a  horse  "that  we  must  have.  It  makes 
the  very  nicest  kind  of  lining  for  a  nest." 

Chippy  and  Mrs.  Chippy  were  gone  a  long  time, 
but  when  they  did  return  each  was  carrying  a 
long  black  hair.  They  had  found  what  they 
wanted,  and  Mrs.  Chippy  was  in  high  spirits 
because,  as  she  took  pains  to  explain  to  Peter, 
that  little  nest  would  now  soon  be  ready  for  the 
four  beautiful  little  blue  eggs  with  black  spots 
on  one  end  she  meant  to  lay  in  it. 

"I  just  love  Chippy  and  Mrs.  Chippy,"  said 
Peter,  as  they  watched  their  two  little  feathered 
friends  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  the  little 
nest  far  out  on  a  branch  of  one  of  the  apple- 
trees. 

"Everybody  does,"  replied  Johnny.  "Every- 
body loves  them  as  much  as  they  hate  Bully  and 
his  wife.     Did  you  know  that  they  are  sometimes 

[25] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

called  Tree  Sparrows?  I  suppose  it  is  because 
they  so  often  build  their  nests  in  trees?  " 

"No,"  said  Peter,  "I  didn't.  Chippy  shouldn't 
be  called  Tree  Sparrow,  because  he  has  a  cousin 
by  that  name." 

Johnny  Chuck  looked  as  if  he  doubted  that. 
"I  never  heard  of  hini,"  he  grunted. 

Peter  grinned.  Here  was  a  chance  to  tell 
Johnny  Chuck  something,  and  Peter  never  is 
happier  than  when  he  can  tell  folks  something 
they  don't  know.  "You'd  know  him  if  you  didn't 
sleep  all  winter,"  said  Peter.  "Dotty  the  Tree 
Sparrow  spends  the  winter  here.  He  left  for  his 
home  in  the  Far  North  about  the  time  you  took 
it  into  your  head  to  wake  up." 

"Why  do  you  call  him  Dotty?"  asked  Johnny 
Chuck. 

"Because  he  has  a  little  round  black  dot  right 
in  the  middle  of  his  breast,"  replied  Peter.  "I 
don't  know  why  they  call  him  Tree  Sparrow; 
he  doesn't  spend  his  time  in  the  trees  the  way 
Chippy  does,  but  I  see  him  much  oftener  in  low 
bushes  or  on  the  ground.  I  think  Chippy  has 
much  more  right  to  the  name  of  Tree  Sparrow 
than  Dotty  has.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I've  heard 
Dotty  called' the  Winter  Chippy." 

"Gracious,  what  a  mix-up  !"  exclaimed  Johnny 
Chuck.     "With  Chippy  being  called  a  Tree  Spar- 

[26] 


DOTTY   THE    TREE    SPARROW.      The  reddish -brown  cap   and  dark   spot 
in  the  middle  of  his  breast  are  all  you  need  to  look   for. 

SLATY    THE    JUNCO.      The    little    slate-colored    and    white    ground    bird    of 
winter. 


Chippy,  Sweetvoice,  and  Dotty 

row  and  a  Tree  Sparrow  called  Chippy,  I  should 
think  folks  would  get  all  tangled  up." 

"Perhaps  they  would,"  replied  Peter,  "if  both 
were  here  at  the  same  time,  but  Chippy  comes 
just  as  Dotty  goes,  and  Dotty  comes  as  Chippy 
goes.  That's  a  pretty  good  arrangement,  espe- 
cially as  they  look  very  much  alike,  excepting  that 
Dotty  is  quite  a  little  bigger  than  Chippy  and 
always  has  that  black  dot,  which  Chippy  does  not 
have.  Goodness  gracious,  it  is  time  I  was  back 
in  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch !  Good-by,  Johnny 
Chuck." 

Away  went  Peter  Rabbit,  lipperty-lipperty-lip, 
heading  for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch.  Out  of 
the  grass  just  ahead  of  him  flew  a  rather  pale, 
streaked  little  brown  bird,  and  as  he  spread  his 
tail  Peter  saw  two  white  feathers  on  the  outer 
edges.  Those  two  white  feathers  were  all  Peter 
needed  to  recognize  another  little  friend  of  whom 
he  is  very  fond.  It  was  Sweetvoice  the  Vesper 
Sparrow,  the  only  one  of  the  Sparrow  family  with 
white  feathers  in  his  tail.  f 

"Come  over  to  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch  and 
sing  to  me,"  cried  Peter. 

Sweetvoice  dropped  down  into  the  grass  again, 
and  when  Peter  came  up,  was  very  busy  getting 
a  mouthful  of  dry  grass.  "Can't,"  mumbled 
Sweetvoice.     "Can't   do   it   now,   Peter   Rabbit, 

[37] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

I'm  too  busy.  It  is  high  time  our  nest  was  finished, 
and  Mrs.  Sweetvoice  will  lose  her  patience  if  I 
don't  get  this  grass  over  there  pretty  quick." 

"Where  is  your  nest;  in  a  tree?"  asked  Peter 
innocently. 

"That's  telling,"  declared  Sweetvoice.  "Not 
a  living  soul  knows  where  that  nest  is,  excepting 
Mrs.  Sweetvoice  and  myself.  This  much  I  will 
tell  you,  Peter :  it  isn't  in  a  tree.  And  I'll  tell 
you  this  much  more :  it  is  in  a  hoofprint  of  Bossy 
the  Cow." 

"In  a  what?"  cried  Peter. 

"In  a  hoofprint  of  Bossy  the  Cow,"  repeated 
Sweetvoice,  chuckling  softly.  "You  know  when 
the  ground  was  wet  and  soft  early  this  spring, 
Bossy  left  deep  footprints  wherever  she  went. 
One  of  these  makes  the  nicest  kind  of  a  place  for 
a  nest.  I  think  we  have  picked  out  the  very 
best  one  on  all  the  Green  Meadows.  Now  run 
along,  Peter  Rabbit,  and  don't  bother  me  any 
more.  I've  got  too  much  to  do  to  sit  here  talking. 
Perhaps  I'll  come  over  to  the  edge  of  the  dear 
Old  Briar-patch  and  sing  to  you  a  while  just 
after  jolly,  round,  red  Mr.  Sun  goes  to  bed  behind 
the  Purple  Hills.     I  just  love  to  sing  then." 

"I'll    be    watching    for    you,"    replied    Peter. 

'You  don't  love  to  sing  any  better  than  I  love 

to  hear  you.     I  think  that  is  the  best  time  of  all 

[28] 


Chippy,  Sweetvoice,  and  Dotty 

the  day  in  which  to  sing.  I  mean,  I  think  it's 
the  best  time  to  hear  singing,"  for  of  course  Peter 
himself  does  not  sing  at  all. 

That  night,  sure  enough,  just  as  the  Black 
Shadows  came  creeping  out  over  the  Green 
Meadows,  Sweetvoice,  perched  on  the  top  of  a 
bramble-bush  over  Peter's  head,  sang  over  and 
over  again  the  sweetest  little  song  and  kept  on 
singing  even  after  it  was  quite  dark.  Peter  didn't 
know  it,  but  it  is  this  habit  of  singing  in  the 
evening  which  has  given  Sweetvoice  his  name  of 
Vesper  Sparrow. 


[29] 


CHAPTER  V 

PETER    LEARNS    SOMETHING    HE    HADN'T     GUESSED 

Running  over  to  the  Old  Orchard  very  early 
in  the  morning  for  a  little  gossip  with  Jenny  Wren 
and  his  other  friends  there  had  become  a  regular 
thing  with  Peter  Rabbit.  He  was  learning  a 
great  many  things,  and  some  of  them  were  most 
surprising. 

Now  two  of  Peter's  oldest  and  best  friends  in 
the  Old  Orchard  were  Winsome  Bluebird  and 
Welcome  Robin.  Every  spring  they  arrived  pretty 
nearly  together,  though  Winsome  Bluebird  usually 
was  a  few  days  ahead  of  Welcome  Robin.  This 
year  Winsome  had  arrived  while  the  snow  still 
lingered  in  patches.  He  was,  as  he  always  is, 
the  herald  of  sweet  Mistress  Spring.  And  when 
Peter  had  heard  for  the  first  time  Winsome's 
soft,  sweet  whistle,  which  seemed  to  come  from 
nowhere  in  particular  and  from  everywhere  in 
general,  he  had  kicked  up  his  long  hind  legs  from 
pure  joy.  Then,  when  a  few  days  later  he  had 
heard  Welcome  Robin's  joyous  message  of  "  Cheer- 
up!     Cheer-up!    Cheer-up!    Cheer-up!    Cheer!" 

[30] 


Peter  Learns  Something  He  Hadn't  Guessed 

from  the  tiptop  of  a  tall  tree,  he  had  known  that 
Mistress  Spring  really  had  arrived. 

Peter  loves  Winsome  Bluebird  and  Welcome 
Robin,  just  as  everybody  else  does,  and  he  had 
known  them  so  long  and  so  well  that  he  thought 
he  knew  all  there  was  to  know  about  them.  He 
would  have  been  very  indignant  had  anybody 
told  him  he  didn't. 

"Those  cousins  don't  look  much  alike,  do 
they?"  remarked  Jenny  Wrren,  as  she  poked  her 
head  out  of  her  house  to  gossip  with  Peter. 

'What  cousins  ?"  demanded  Peter,  staring  very 
hard  in  the  direction  in  which  Jenny  Wren  was 
looking. 

"Those  two  sitting  on  the  fence  over  there. 
Where  are  your  eyes,  Peter?"  replied  Jenny 
rather  sharply. 

Peter  stared  harder  than  ever.  On  one  post 
sat  Winsome  Bluebird,  and  on  another  post  sat 
Welcome  Robin.  "I  don't  see  anybody  but 
Winsome  and  Welcome,  and  they  are  not  even 
related,"  replied  Peter  with  a  little  puzzled  frown. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  Peter!"  exclaimed 
Jenny  Wren.  "Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!  Who 
told  you  any  such  nonsense  as  that?  Of  course 
they  are  related.  They  are  cousins.  I  thought 
everybody  knew  that.  They  belong  to  the  same 
family  that  Melody  the  Thrush  and  all  the  other 

[31] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 
Thrushes    belong    to.       That    makes    them    all 


cousins." 


"What?"  exclaimed  Peter,  looking  as  if  he 
didn't  believe  a  word  of  what  Jenny  Wren  had 
said.  Jenny  repeated,  and  still  Peter  looked 
doubtful. 

Then  Jenny  lost  her  temper,  a  thing  she  does 
very  easily.  "If  you  don't  believe  me,  go  ask 
one  of  them,"  she  snapped,  and  disappeared 
inside  her  house,  where  Peter  could  hear  her 
scolding  away  to  herself. 

The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  this  struck 
Peter  as  good  advice.  So  he  hopped  over  to  the 
foot  of  the  fence  post  on  which  Winsome  Blue- 
bird was  sitting.  "Jenny  Wren  says  that  you 
and  Welcome  Robin  are  cousins.  She  doesn't 
know  what  she  is  talking  about,  does  she?"  asked 
Peter. 

Winsome  chuckled.  It  was  a  soft,  gentle 
chuckle.  "Yes,"  said  he,  nodding  his  head, 
"we  are.  You  can  trust  that  little  busybody  to 
know  what  she  is  talking  about,  every  time.  I 
sometimes  think  she  knows  more  about  other 
people's  affairs  than  about  her  own.  Welcome 
and  I  may  not  look  much  alike,  but  we  are 
cousins  just  the  same.  Don't  you  think  Welcome 
is  looking  unusually  fine  this  spring?" 

"Not  a  bit  finer  than  you  are  yourself,  Win- 

[32] 


Peter  Learns  Something  He  Hadn't  Guessed 

some,"  replied  Peter  politely.  "I  just  love  that 
sky-blue  coat  of  yours.  What  is  the  reason  that 
Mrs.  Bluebird  doesn't  wear  as  bright  a  coat  as 
you  do?" 

"Go  ask  Jenny  Wren,"  chuckled  Winsome 
Bluebird,  and  before  Peter  could  say  another 
word  he  flew  over  to  the  roof  of  Parmer  Brown's 
house. 

Back  scampered  Peter  to  tell  Jenny  Wren  that 
he  was  sorry  he  had  doubted  her  and  that  he 
never  would  again.  Then  he  begged  Jenny  to 
tell  him  why  it  was  that  Mrs.  Bluebird  was  not 
as  brightly  dressed  as  was  Winsome. 

"Mrs.  Bluebird,  like  most  mothers,  is  alto- 
gether too  busy  to  spend  much  time  taking  care 
of  her  clothes ;  and  fine  clothes  need  a  lot  of 
care,"  replied  Jenny.  "Besides,  when  Winsome 
is  about  he  attracts  all  the  attention  and  that 
gives  her  a  chance  to  slip  in  and  out  of  her  nest 
without  being  noticed.  I  don't  believe  you  know, 
Peter  Rabbit,  where  Winsome's  nest  is." 

Peter  had  to  admit  that  he  didn't,  although 
he  had  tried  his  best  to  find  out  by  watching 
Winsome.  "I  think  it's  over  in  that  little  house 
put  up  by  Farmer  Brown's  boy,"  he  ventured. 
"I  saw  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bluebird  go  in  it  when 
they  first  came,  and  I've  seen  Winsome  around 
it  a  great  deal  since,  so  I  guess  it  is  there." 

:  [  33  ] ; 


(( 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 
So  you  guess  it  is  there!"  mimicked  Jenny 

m.       "Well.   VOlir   miPSS    is    rmitA   w™nrr     P/^+ot- . 


Wren.  "Well,  your  guess  is  quite  wrong,  Peter; 
quite  wrong.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  in  one 
of  those  old  fence  posts.  But  just  which  one 
I  am  not  going  to  tell  you.  I  will  leave  that  for 
you  to  find  out.  Mrs.  Bluebird  certainly  shows 
good  sense.  She  knows  a  good  house  when  she  sees 
it.  The  hole  in  that  post  is  one  of  the  best  holes 
anywhere  around  here.  If  I  had  arrived  here  early 
enough  I  would  have  taken  it  myself.  But  Mrs. 
Bluebird  already  had  her  nest  built  in  it  and  four 
eggs  there,  so  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but 
come  here.  Just  between  you  and  me,  Peter, 
I  think  the  Bluebirds  show  more  sense  in  nest 
building  than  do  their  cousins  the  Robins.  There 
is  nothing  like  a  house  with  stout  walls  and  a 
doorway  just  big  enough  to  get  in  and  out  of 
comfortably." 

Peter  nodded  quite  as  if  he  understood  all 
about  the  advantages  of  a  house  with  walls. 
"That  reminds  me,"  said  he.  "The  other  day  I 
saw  Welcome  Robin  getting  mud  and  carrying  it 
away.  Pretty  soon  he  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Robin, 
and  she  did  the  same  thing.  They  kept  it  up  till 
I  got  tired  of  watching  them.  What  were  they 
doing  with  that  mud  ?  "  -  <: 

"Building  their  nest,  of  course,  stupid,"  re- 
torted Jenny.     "Welcome  Robin,  with  that  black 

[34] 


Peter  Learns  Something  He  Hadn't  Guessed 

head,  beautiful  russet  breast,  black  and  white 
throat  and  yellow  bill,  not  to  mention  the  proud 
way  in  which  he  carries  himself,  certainly  is  a 
handsome  fellow,  and  Mrs.  Robin  is  only  a  little 
less  handsome.  How  they  can  be  content  to 
build  the  kind  of  a  home  they  do  is  more  than  I 
can  understand.  People  think  that  Mr.  Wren 
and  I  use  a  lot  of  trash  in  our  nest.  Perhaps  we 
do,  but  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  and  that  is  it  is 
clean  trash.  It  is  just  sticks  and  clean  straws, 
and  before  I  lay  my  eggs  I  see  to  it  that  my  nest 
is  lined  with  feathers.  More  than  this,  there  isn't 
any  cleaner  housekeeper  than  I  am,  if  I  do  say  it. 

"Welcome  Robin  is  a  fine  looker  and  a  fine 
singer,  and  everybody  loves  him.  But  when  it 
comes  to  housekeeping,  he  and  Mrs.  Robin  are 
just  plain  dirty.  They  make  the  foundation  of 
their  nest  of  mud,  —  plain,  common,  ordinary 
mud.  They  cover  this  with  dead  grass,  and  some- 
times there  is  mighty  little  of  this  over  the.  inside 
walls  of  mud.  I  know  because  I've  seen  the  in- 
side of  their  nest  often.  Anybody  with  any  eyes 
at  all  can  find  their  nest.  More  than  once  I've 
known  them  to  have  their  nest  washed  away  in  a 
heavy  rain,  or  have  it  blown  down  in  a  high  wind. 
Nothing  like  that  ever  happens  to  Winsome 
Bluebird  or  to  me." 

Jenny  disappeared  inside  her  house,  and  Peter 

[35] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

waited  for  her  to  come  out  again.  Welcome 
Robin  flew  down  on  the  ground,  ran  a  few  steps, 
and  then  stood  still  with  his  head  on  one  side  as 
if  listening.  Then  he  reached  down  and  tugged 
at  something,  and  presently  out  of  the  ground 
came  a  long,  wriggling  angleworm.  Welcome 
gulped  it  down  and  ran  on  a  few  steps,  then  once 
more  paused  to  listen.  This  time  he  turned  and 
ran  three  or  four  steps  to  the  right,  where  he 
pulled  another  worm  out  of  the  ground. 

"He  acts  as  if  he  heard  those  worms  in  the 
ground,"  said  Peter,  speaking  aloud  without  think- 


ing. 


"He  does,"  said  Jenny  Wren,  poking  her  head 
out  of  her  doorway  just  as  Peter  spoke.  "How 
do  you  suppose  he  would  find  them  when  they 
are  in  the  ground  if  he  didn't  hear  them  ?" 

"Can  you  hear  them  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"I've  never  tried,  and  I  don't  intend  to  waste 
my.  time  trying,"  retorted  Jenny.  "Welcome 
Robin  may  enjoy  eating  them,  but  for  my  part  I 
want  something  smaller  and  daintier,  young  grass- 
hoppers, tender  young  beetles,  small  caterpillars, 
bugs  and  spiders." 

Peter  had  to  turn  his  head  aside  to  hide  the 
wry  face  he  just  had  to  make  at  the  mention  of 
such  things  as  food.  "Is  that  all  Welcome 
Robin  eats?"  he  asked  innocently. 

[30] 


WELCOME    ROBIN.      No  other  bird  has  a  russet  breast  like  his. 

WINSOME    BLUEBIRD.      His  blue  back,  wings  and  tail  leave  no  doubt  as  to 
who  he  is. 


4 


Peter  Learns  Something  Tie  Hadn't  Guessed 

"I  should  say  not,"  laughed  Jenny.  "He  eats 
a  lot  of  other  kinds  of  worms,  and  he  just  dearly 
loves  fruit  like  strawberries  and  cherries  and  all 
sorts  of  small  berries.  Well,  I  can't  stop  here 
talking  any  longer.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  secret, 
Peter,  if  you'll  promise  not  to  tell." 

Of  course  Peter  promised,  and  Jenny  leaned 
so  far  down  that  Peter  wondered  how  she  could 
keep  from  falling  as  she  whispered,  "I've  got 
seven  eggs  in  my  nest,  so  if  you  don't  see  much  of 
me  for  the  next  week  or  more,  you'll  know  why. 
I've  just  got  to  sit  on  those  eggs  and  keep  them 
warm." 


[37] 


CHAPTER  VI 

'  AN   OLD   FRIEND   IN  A   NEW  HOME 

Every  day  brought  newcomers  to  the  Old 
Orchard,  and  early  in  the  morning  there  were  so 
many  voices  to  be  heard  that  perhaps  it  is  no 
wonder  if  for  some  time  Peter  Rabbit  failed  to 
miss  that  of  one  of  his  very  good  friends.  Most 
unexpectedly  he  was  reminded  of  this  as  very 
early  one  morning  he  scampered,  lipperty-lipperty- 
lip,  across  a  little  bridge  over  the  Laughing  Brook. 

"  Dear  me  !  Dear  me  !  Dear  me  ! "  cried  rather 
a  plaintive  voice.  Peter  stopped  so  suddenly 
that  he  all  but  fell  heels  over  head.  Sitting  on 
the  top  of  a  tall,  dead,  mullein  stalk  was  a  very 
soberly  dressed  but  rather  trim  little  fellow,  a 
very  little  larger  than  Bully  the  English  Sparrow. 
Above,  his  coat  was  of  a  dull  olive-brown,  while 
underneath  he  was  of  a  grayish-white,  with  faint 
tinges  of  yellow  in  places.  His  head  was  dark, 
and  his  bill  black.  The  feathers  on  his  head 
were  lifted  just  enough  to  make  the  tiniest  kind 
of  crest.  His  wings  and  tail  were  dusky,  little 
bars  of  white  showing  very  faintly  on  his  wings, 
while  the  outer  edges  of  his  tail  were  distinctly 

[38] 


An  Old  Friend  in  a  New  Home 

white.  He  sat  with  his  tail  hanging  straight  down, 
as  if  he  hadn't  strength  enough  to  hold  it  up. 

"Hello,  Dear  Me!"  cried  Peter  joyously. 
"What  are  you  doing  way  down  here  ?  I  haven't 
seen  you  since  you  first  arrived,  just  after  Win- 
some Bluebird  got  here."  Peter  started  to  say 
that  he  had  wondered  what  had  become  of  Dear 
Me,  but  checked  himself,  for  Peter  is  very  honest 
and  he  realized  now  that  in  the  excitement  of 
greeting  so  many  friends  he  hadn't  missed  Dear 
Me  at  all. 

Dear  Me  the  Phcebe  did  not  reply  at  once, 
but  darted  out  into  the  air,  and  Peter  heard  a 
sharp  click  of  that  little  black  bill.  Making  a 
short  circle,  Dear  Me  alighted  on  the  mullein 
stalk  again. 

"Did  you  catch  a  fly  then  ?"'  asked  Peter. 

"Dear  me!  Dear  me!  Of  course  I  did,"  was 
the  prompt  reply.  And  with  each  word  there  was 
a  jerk  of  that  long  hanging  tail.  Peter  almost 
wondered  if  in  some  way  Dear  Me's  tongue  and 
tail  were  connected.  "I  suppose,"  said  he,  "that 
it  is  the  habit  of  catching  flies  and  bugs  in  the  air 
that  has  given  your  family  the  name  of  Fly- 
catchers." 

Dear  Me  nodded  and  almost  at  once  started 
into  the  air  again.  Once  more  Peter  heard  the 
click  of  that  little  black  bill,  then  Dear  Me  was 

[39] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

back  on  his  perch.  Peter  asked  again  what  he 
was  doing  down  there. 

"Mrs.  Phcebe  and  I  are  living  down  here," 
replied  Dear  Me.  "We've  made  our  home  down 
here  and  we  like  it  very  much." 

Peter  looked  all  around,  this  way,  that  way, 
every  way,  with  the  funniest  expression  on  his 
face.  He  didn't  see  anything  of  Mrs.  Phcebe 
and  he  didn't  see  any  place  in  which  he  could 
imagine  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phcebe  building  a  nest. 
"What  are  you  looking  for?"  asked  Dear  Me. 

"For  Mrs.  Phcebe  and  your  home,"  declared 
Peter  quite  frankly.  "I  didn't  suppose  you  and 
Mrs.  Phcebe  ever  built  a  nest  on  the  ground,  and 
I  don't  see  any  other  place  around  here  for  one." 

Dear  Me  chuckled.  "I  wouldn't  tell  any  one 
but  you,  Peter,"  said  he,  "but  I've  known  you  so 
long  that  I'm  going  to  let  you  into  a  little  secret. 
Mrs.  Phcebe  and  our  home  are  under  the  very 
bridge  you  are  sitting  on." 

"I  don't  believe  it !"  cried  Peter. 

But  Dear  Me  knew  from  the  way  Peter  said  it 
that  he  really  didn't  mean  that.  "Look  and  see 
for  yourself,"  said  Dear  Me. 

So  Peter  lay  flat  on  his  stomach  and  tried  to 
stretch  his  head  over  the  edge  of  the  bridge  so  as 
to  see  under  it.  But  his  neck  wasn't  long  enough, 
or  else  he  was  afraid  to  lean  over  as  far  as  he  might 

[40] 


An  Old  Friend  in  a  New  Home 

have.  Finally  he  gave  up  and  at  Mr.  Phoebe's 
suggestion  crept  down  the  bank  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  Laughing  Brook.  Dear  Me  darted  out  to 
catch  another  fly,  then  flew  right  in  under  the 
bridge  and  alighted  on  a  little  ledge  of  stone  just 
beneath  the  floor.  There,  sure  enough,  was  a 
nest,  and  Peter  could  see  Mrs.  Phoebe's  bill  and 
the  top  of  her  head  above  the  edge  of  it.  It  was 
a  nest  with  a  foundation  of  mud  covered  with 
moss  and  lined  with  feathers. 

"That's  perfectly  splendid!"  cried  Peter,  as 
Dear  Me  resumed  his  perch  on  the  old  mullein 
stalk.  "How  did  you  ever  come  to  think  of  such 
a  place  ?  And  why  did  you  leave  the  shed  up  at 
Farmer  Brown's  where  you  have  built  your  home 
for  the  last  two  or  three  years  ?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Dear  Me,  "we  Phoebes  always 
have  been  fond  of  building  under  bridges.  You 
see  a  place  like  this  is  quite  safe.  Then,  too,  we 
like  to  be  near  water.  Always  there  are  many 
insects  flying  around  where  there  is  water,  so  it 
is  an  easy  matter  to  get  plenty  to  eat.  I  left 
the  shed  at  Farmer  Brown's  because  that  pesky 
cat  up  there  discovered  our  nest  last  year,  and  we 
had  a  dreadful  time  keeping  our  babies  out  of 
her  clutches.  She  hasn't  found  us  down  here, 
and  she  wouldn't  be  able  to  trouble  us  if  she 
should  find  us." 

[41] 


t  The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

"I  suppose,"  said  Peter,  "that  as  usual  you 
were  the  first  of  your  family  to  arrive." 

"Certainly.  Of  course,"  replied  Dear  Me.  "We 
always  are  the  first.  Mrs.  Phcebe  and  I  don't 
go  as  far  south  in  winter  as  the  other  members 
of  the  family  do.  They  go  clear  down  into  the 
Tropics,  but  we  manage  to  pick  up  a  pretty  good 
living  without  going  as  far  as  that.  So  we  get 
back  here  before  the  rest  of  them,  and  usually 
have  begun  housekeeping  by  the  time  they  arrive. 
My  cousin,  Chebec  the  Least  Flycatcher,  should 
be  here  by  this  time.  Haven't  you  heard  any- 
thing of  him  up  in  the  Old  Orchard?" 

"No,"  replied  Peter,  "but  to  tell  the  truth  I 
haven't  looked  for  him.  I'm  on  my  way  to  the 
Old  Orchard  now,  and  I  certainly  shall  keep  my 
ears  and  eyes  open  for  Chebec.  I'll  tell  you  if 
I  find  him.     Good-by." 

"Dear  me!  Dear  me!  Good-by,  Peter.  Dear 
me!"  replied  Mr.  Phcebe  as  Peter  started  off 
for  the  Old  Orchard.  ■  < 

Perhaps  it  was  because  Peter  was  thinking  of 
him  that  almost  the  first  voice  he  heard  when  he 
reached  the  Old  Orchard  was  that  of  Chebec, 
repeating  his  own  name  over  and  over  as  if  he 
loved  the  sound  of  it.  It  didn't  take  Peter  long 
to  find  him.  He  was  sitting  out  on  the  tip  of  one 
of  the  upper  branches  of  an  apple-tree  where  he 

[  42  ] 


An  Old  Friend  in  a  New  Home 

could  watch  for  flies  and  other  winged  insects. 
He  looked  so  much  like  Mr.  Phcebe,  save  that 
he  was  smaller,  that  any  one  would  have  known 
they  were  cousins.  "Chebec!  Chebec !  Che- 
bec!"  he  repeated  over  and  over,  and  with  every 
note  jerked  his  tail.  Now  and  then  he  would  dart 
out  into  the  air  and  snap  up  something  so  small 
that  Peter,  looking  up  from  the  ground,  couldn't 
see  it  at  all. 

"Hello,  Chebec!"  cried  Peter.  "I'm  glad  to 
see  you  back  again.  Are  you  going  to  build  in 
the  Old  Orchard  this  year?" 

"Of  course  I  am,"  replied'  Chebec  promptly. 
"Mrs.  Chebec  and  I  have  built  here  for  the  last 
two  or  three  years,  and  we  wouldn't  think  of 
going  anywhere  else.  Mrs.  Chebec  is  looking  for 
a  place  now.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  helping 
her,  but  I  learned  a  long  time  ago,  Peter  Rabbit, 
that  in  matters  of  this  kind  it  is  just  as  well  not 
to  have  any  opinion  at  all.  When  Mrs.  Chebec 
has  picked  out  just  the  place  she  wants,  I'll  help 
her  build  the  nest.  It  certainly  is  good  to  be  back 
here  in  the  Old  Orchard  and  planning  a  home  once 
more.  We've  made  a  terribly  long  journey,  and 
I  for  one  am  glad  it's  over." 

"I  just  saw  your  cousins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phoebe, 
and  they  already  have  a  nest  and  eggs,"  said 
Peter. 

[43] 


(( 
tt 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

The  Phcebes  are  a  funny  lot,"  replied  Chebec. 
They  are  the  only  members  of  the  family  that 
can  stand  cold  weather.  What  pleasure  they 
get  out  of  it  I  don't  understand.  They  are  queer 
anyway,  for  they  never  build  their  nests  in  trees 
as  the  rest  of  us  do." 

"Are  you  the  smallest  in  the  family?"  asked 
Peter,  for  it  had  suddenly  struck  him  that  Chebec 
was  a  very  little  fellow  indeed. 

Chebec  nodded.  "I'm  the  smallest,"  said  he. 
"That's  why  they  call  me  Least  Flycatcher.  I 
may  be  least  in  size,  but  I  can  tell  you  one  thing, 
Peter  Rabbit,  and  that  is  that  I  can  catch  just  as 
many  bugs  and  flies  as  any  of  them."  Suiting 
action  to  the  word,  he  darted  out  into  the  air. 
His  little  bill  snapped  and  with  a  quick  turn  he 
was  back  on  his  former  perch,  jerking  his  tail  and 
uttering  his  sharp  little  cry  of,  "Chebec  !  Chebec  ! 
Chebec!"  until  Peter  began  to  wonder  which  he 
was  the  most  fond  of,  catching  flies,  or  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice. 

Presently  they  both  heard  Mrs.  Chebec  calling 
from  somewhere  in  the  middle  of  the  Old  Orchard. 
"Excuse  me,  Peter,"  said  Chebec,  "I  must  go  at 
once.  Mrs.  Chebec  says  she  has  found  just  the 
place  for  our  nest,  and  now  we've  got  a  busy  time 
ahead  of  us.  We  are  very  particular  how  we  build 
a  nest." 

[44] 


w-^ 


CHEBEC   THE   LEAST    FLYCATCHER.     He  will  tell  you  his  name. 
DEAR    ME    THE    PHOEBE.      Look  for  him  around  an  old  bridge  or  shed. 


An  Old  Friend  in  a  New  Home, 

"Do  you  start  it  with  mud  the  way  Welcome 
Robin  and  your  cousins,  the  Phcebes,  do?"  asked 
Peter. 

"Mud!"  cried  Chebec  scornfully.  "Mud!  I 
should  say  not !  I  would  have  you  understand, 
Peter,  that  we  are  very  particular  about  what 
we  use  in  our  nest.  We  use  only  the  finest  of 
rootlets,  strips  of  soft  bark,  fibers  of  plants,  the 
brown  cotton  that  grows  on  ferns,  and  perhaps  a 
little  hair  when  we  can  find  it.  We  make  a  dainty 
nest,  if  I  do  say  it,  and  we  fasten  it  securely  in 
the  fork  made  by  two  or  three  upright  little 
branches.  Now  I  must  go  because  Mrs.  Chebec 
is  getting  impatient.  Come  see  me  when  I'm 
not  so  busy,  Peter." 


45] 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  WATCHMAN  OF  THE  OLD  ORCHARD 

A  few  days  after  Chebec  and  his  wife  started 
building  their  nest  in  the  Old  Orchard  Peter 
dropped  around  as  usual  for  a  very  early  call. 
He  found  Chebec  very  busy  hunting  for  materials 
for  that  nest,  because,  as  he  explained  to  Peter, 
Mrs.  Chebec  is  very  particular  indeed  about  what 
her  nest  is  made  of.  But  he  had  time  to  tell 
Peter  a  bit  of  news. 

"My  fighting  cousin  and  my  handsomest  cousin 
arrived  together  yesterday,  and  now  our  family  is 
very  well  represented  in  the  Old  Orchard,"  said 
Chebec  proudly. 

Slowly  Peter  reached  over  his  back  with  his 
long  left  hind  foot  and  thoughtfully  scratched  his 
long  right  ear.  He  didn't  like  to  admit  that  he 
couldn't  recall  those  two  cousins  of  Chebec's. 
"Did  you  say  your  fighting  cousin?"  he  asked 
in  a  hesitating  way. 

"That's  what  I  said,"  replied  Chebec.  "He 
is  Scrapper  the  Kingbird,  as  of  course  you  know. 
The  rest  of  us  always  feel  safe  when  he  is  about." 

[46] 


The  Watchman  of  the  Old  Orchard 

"Of  course  I  know  him,"  declared  Peter,  his 
face  clearing.     "Where  is  he  now?"  • 

At  that  very  instant  a  great  racket  broke  out 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Old  Orchard  and  in  no 
time  at  all  the  feathered  folks  were  hurrying  from 
every  direction,  screaming  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 
Of  course,  Peter  couldn't  be  left  out  of  anything 
like  that,  and  he  scampered  for  the  scene  of  trouble 
as  fast  as  his  legs  could  take  him.  When  he  got 
there  he  saw  Redtail  the  Hawk  flying  up  and  down 
and  this  way  and  that  way,  as  if  trying  to  get  away 
from  something  or  somebody.  r  \ 

For  a  minute  Peter  couldn't  think  what  was  the 
trouble  with  Redtail,  and  then  he  saw.  A  white- 
throated,  white-breasted  bird,  having  a  black  cap 
and  back,  and  a  broad  white  band  across  the  end 
of  his  tail,  was  darting  at  Redtail  as  if  he  meant 
to  pull  out  every  feather  in  the  latter's  coat. 

He  was  just  a  little  smaller  than  Welcome  Robin, 
and  in  comparison  with  him  Redtail  was  a  perfect 
giant.  But  this  seemed  to  make  no  difference  to 
Scrapper,  for  that  is  who  it  was.  He  wasn't  afraid, 
and  he  intended  that  everybody  should  know  it, 
especially  Redtail.  It  is  because  of  his  fearless- 
ness that  he  is  called  Kingbird.  All  the  time  he  was 
screaming  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  calling  Redtail  a 
robber  and  every  other  bad  name  he  could  think  of. 
All  the  other  birds  joined  him  in  calling  Redtail 

[47] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

bad  names.  But  none,  not  even  Bully  the  Eng- 
lish Sparrow,  was  brave  enough  to  join  him  in 
attacking  big  Redtail. 

When  he  had  succeeded  in  driving  Redtail  far 
enough  from  the  Old  Orchard  to  suit  him,  Scrapper 
flew  back  and  perched  on  a  dead  branch  of  one 
of  the  trees,  where  he  received  the  congratulations 
of  all  his  feathered  neighbors.  He  took  them 
quite  modestly,  assuring  them  that  he  had  done 
nothing,  nothing  at  all,  but  that  he  didn't  intend 
to  have  any  of  the  Hawk  family  around  the  Old 
Orchard  while  he  lived  there.  Peter  couldn't 
help  but  admire  Scrapper  for  his  courage. 

As  Peter  looked  up  at  Scrapper  he  saw  that, 
like  all  the  rest  of  the  flycatchers,  there  was  just 
the  tiniest  of  hooks  on  the  end  of  his  bill.  Scrap- 
per's slightly  raised  cap  seemed  all  black,  but  if 
Peter  could  have  gotten  close  enough,  he  would 
have  found  that  hidden  in  it  was  a  patch  of 
orange-red.  While  Peter  sat  staring  up  at  him 
Scrapper  suddenly  darted  out  into  the  air,  and 
his  bill  snapped  in  quite  the  same  way  Chebec's 
did  when  he  caught  a  fly.  But  it  wasn't  a  fly 
that  Scrapper  had.  It  was  a  bee.  Peter  saw  it 
very  distinctly  just  as  Scrapper  snapped  it  up. 
It  reminded  Peter  that  he  had  often  heard  Scrap- 
per called  the  Bee  Martin,  and  now  he  understood 
why. 

[48] 


The  Watchman  of  the  Old  Orchard 

"Do  you  live  on  bees  altogether?"  asked  Peter. 

"Bless  your  heart,  Peter,  no,"  replied  Scrapper 
with  a  chuckle.  "There  wouldn't  be  any  honey 
if  I  did.  I  like  bees.  I  like  them  first  rate.  But 
they  form  only  a  very  small  part  of  my  food. 
Those  that  I  do  catch  are  mostly  drones,  and  you 
know  the  drones  are  useless.  They  do  no  work 
at  all.  It  is  only  by  accident  that  I  now  and 
then  catch  a  worker.  I  eat  all  kinds  of  insects 
that  fly  and  some  that  don't.  I'm  one  of  Farmer 
Brown's  best  friends,  if  he  did  but  know  it.  You 
can  talk  all  you  please  about  the  wonderful  eye- 
sight of  the  members  of  the  Hawk  family,  but  if 
any  one  of  them  has  better  eyesight  than  I  have, 
I'd  like  to  know  who  it  is.  There's  a  fly  'way 
over  there  beyond  that  old  apple-tree;  watch 
me  catch  it." 

Peter  knew  better  than  to  waste  any  effort 
trying  to  see  that  fly.  He  knew  that  he  couldn't 
have  seen  it  had  it  been  only  one  fourth  that  dis- 
tance away.  But  if  he  couldn't  see  the  fly  he 
could  hear  the  sharp  click  of  Scrapper's  bill,  and 
he  knew  by  the  way  Scrapper  kept  opening  and 
shutting  his  mouth  after  his  return  that  he  had 
caught  that  fly  and  it  had  tasted  good. 

"Are  you  going  to  build  in  the  Old  Orchard 
this  year?"  asked  Peter. 

"Of  course  I  am,"  declared  Scrapper.     "I — " 

[49] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

Just  then  he  spied  Blacky  the  Crow  and  dashed 
out  to  meet  him.  Blacky  saw  him  coming  and 
was  wise  enough  to  suddenly  appear  to'  have  no 
interest  whatever  in  the  Old  Orchard,  turning 
away  towards  the  Green  Meadows  instead. 

Peter  didn't  wait  for  Scrapper  to  return.  It 
was  getting  high  time  for  him  to  scamper  home 
to  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch  and  so  he  started 
along,  lipperty-lipperty-lip.  Just  as  he  was  leav- 
ing the  far  corner  of  the  Old  Orchard  some  one 
called  him.  ''Peter!  Oh,  Peter  Rabbit!"  called 
the  voice.  Peter  stopped  abruptly,  sat  up  very 
straight,  looked  this  way,  looked  that  way  and 
looked  the  other  way,  every  way  but  the  right  way. 

"Look  up  over  your  head,"  cried  the  voice, 
rather  a  harsh  voice.  Peter  looked,  then  all  in 
a  flash  it  came  to  him  who  it  was  Chebec  had 
meant  by  the  handsomest  member  of  his  family. 
It  was  Cresty  the  Great  Crested  Flycatcher. 
He  was  a  wee  bit  bigger  than  Scrapper  the  King- 
bird, yet  not  quite  so  big  as  Welcome  Robin,  and 
more  slender.  His  throat  and  breast  were  gray, 
shading  into  bright  yellow  underneath.  His  back 
and  head  were  of  a  grayish-brown  with  a  tint  of 
olive-green.  A  pointed  cap  was  all  that  was 
needed  to  make  him  quite  distinguished  looking. 
He  certainly  was  the  handsomest  as  well  as  the 
largest  of  the  Flycatcher  family. 

[50] 


SCRAPPER   THE  KINGBIRD.     Look  in  the  Old  Orchard  for  a  bird  with 
white  breast,  dark  head  and  back,  and  with  a  white  tip  to  his  tail. 

REDEYE    THE    VIREO.     The  only  Vireo  with  red  eyes. 


The  Watchman  of  the  Old  Orchard 

"You  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry,  so  don't  let  me 
detain  you,  Peter,"  said  Cresty,  before  Peter 
could  find  his  tongue.  "I  just  want  to  ask  one 
little  favor  of  you." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Peter,  who  is  always 
glad  to  do  any  one  a  favor. 

"If  in  your  roaming  about  you  run  across  an 
old  cast-off  suit  of  Mr.  Black  Snake,  or  of  any 
other  member  of  the  Snake  family,  I  wish  you 
would  remember  me  and  let  me  know.  Will  you, 
Peter?"  said  Cresty. 

"A  —  a  —  a  —  what  ? "   stammered  Peter. 

"A  cast-off  suit  of  clothes  from  any  member  of 
the  Snake  family,"  replied  Cresty  somewhat  im- 
patiently. "Now  don't  forget,  Peter.  I've  got 
to  go  house  hunting,  but  you'll  find  me  here  or 
hereabouts,  if  it  happens  that  you  find  one  of 
those  cast-off  Snake  suits."         -  * 

Before  Peter  could  say  another  word  Cresty 
had  flown  away.  Peter  hesitated,  looking  first 
towards  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch  and  then 
towards  Jenny  Wren's  house.  He  just  couldn't 
understand  about  those  cast-off  suits  of  the  Snake 
family,  and  he  felt  sure  that  Jenny  Wren  could 
tell  him.  Finally  curiosity  got  the  best  of  him, 
and  back  he  scampered,  lipperty-lipperty-lip,  to 
the  foot  of  the  tree  in  which  Jenny  Wren  had  her 
home.    / 

[51], 


a 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

' Jenny!"  called  Peter.  "Jenny  Wren!  Jenny 
Wren!"  No  one  answered  him.  He  could  hear 
Mr.  Wren  singing  in  another  tree,  but  he  couldn't 
see  him.  "Jenny  !  Jenny  Wren  !  Jenny  Wren  !" 
called  Peter  again.  This  time  Jenny  popped  her 
head  out,  and  her  little  eyes  fairly  snapped. 
"Didn't  I  tell  you  the  other  day,  Peter  Rabbit, 
that  I'm  not  to  be  disturbed  ?  Didn't  I  tell  you 
that  I've  got  seven  eggs  in  here,  and  that  I  can't 
spend  any  time  gossiping?  Didn't  I,  Peter 
Rabbit  ?     Didn't  I  ?     Didn't  I  ?  " 

"You  certainly  did,  Jenny.  You  certainly  did, 
and  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  replied  Peter 
meekly.  "I  wouldn't  have  thought  of  doing  such 
a  thing,  but  I  just  didn't  know  who  else  to  go  to." 

"Go  to  for  what?"  snapped  Jenny  Wren. 
"What  is  it  you've  come  to  me  for?" 

"Snake  skins,"  replied  Peter. 

"Snake  skins!  Snake  skins!"  shrieked  Jenny 
Wren.  "What  are  you  talking  about,  Peter 
Rabbit  ?  I  never  have  anything  to  do  with  Snake 
skins  and  don't  want  to.  Ugh !  It  makes  me 
shiver  just  to  think  of  it." 

"You  don't  understand,"  cried  Peter  hurriedly. 
"What  I  want  to  know  is,  why  should  Cresty 
the  Flycatcher  ask  me  to  please  let  him  know  if  I 
found  any  cast-off  suits  of  the  Snake  family.  He 
flew  away  before  I  could  ask  him  why  he  wants 

[52] 


The  Watchman  of  the  Old  Orchard 

them,  and  so  I  came  to  you,  because  I  know  you 
know  everything,  especially  everything  concern- 
ing your  neighbors." 

Jenny  Wren  looked  as  if  she  didn't  know  whether 
to  feel  flattered  or  provoked.  But  Peter  looked 
so  innocent  that  she  concluded  he  was  trying  to 
say  something  nice. 


[53] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OLD    CLOTHES   AND    OLD    HOUSES 

"I  can't  stop  to  talk  to  you  any  longer  now, 
Peter  Rabbit,"  said  Jenny  Wren,  "but  if  you  will 
come  over  here  bright  and  early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, while  I  am  out  to  get  my  breakfast,  I  will  tell 
you  about  Cresty  the  Flycatcher  and  why  he 
wants  the  cast-off  clothes  of  some  of  the  Snake 
family.  Perhaps  I  should  say  what  he  wants  of 
them  instead  of  why  he  wants  them,  for  why  any 
one  should  want  anything  to  do  with  Snakes  is 
more  then  I  can  understand." 

With  this  Jenny  Wren  disappeared  inside  her 
house,  and  there  was  nothing  for  Peter  to  do  but 
once  more  start  for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch. 
On  his  way  he  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to 
run  over  to  the  Green  Forest,  which  was  just 
beyond  the  Old  Orchard.  He  just  had  to  find  out 
if  there  was  anything  new  over  there.  Hardly 
had  he  reached  it  when  he  heard  a  plaintive  voice 
crying,  "Pee-wee!  Pee-e !  Pee-wee!"  Peter 
chuckled  happily.  "I  declare,  there's  Pewee," 
he  cried.  "He  usually  is  one  of  the  last  of  the 
Flycatcher  family  to  arrive.     I  didn't  expect  to 

[54] 


Old  Clothes  and  Old  Houses 

find  him  yet.     I  wonder  what  has  brought  him 
up  so  early." 

It  didn't  take  Peter  long  to  find  Pewee.  He 
just  followed  the  sound  of  that  voice  and  presently 
saw  Pewee  fly  out  and  make  the  same  kind  of  a 
little  circle  as  the  other  members  of  his  family 
make  when  they  are  hunting  flies.  It  ended  just 
where  it  had  started,  on  a  dead  twig  of  a  tree  in 
a  shady,  rather  lonely  part  of  the  Green  Forest. 
Almost  at  once  he  began  to  call  his  name  in  a 
rather  sad,  plaintive  tone,  "Pee-wee!  Pee-wee ! 
Pee-wee!"  But  he  wasn't  sad,  as  Peter  well 
knew.  It  was  his  way  of  expressing  how  happy 
he  felt.  He  was  a  little  bigger  than  his  cousin, 
Chebec,  but  looked  very  much  like  him.  There 
was  a  little  notch  in  the  end  of  his  tail.  The  upper 
half  of  his  bill  was  black,  but  the  lower  half  was 
light.  Peter  could  see  on  each  wing  two  whitish 
bars,  and  he  noticed  that  Pewee's  wings  were 
longer  than  his  tail,  which  wasn't  the  case  with 
Chebec.  But  no  one  could  ever  mistake  Pewee 
for  any  of  his  relatives,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
he  keeps  repeating  his  own  name  over  and  over. 

"Aren't  you  here  early?"  asked  Peter. 

Pewee  nodded.  "Yes,"  said  he.  "It  has  been 
unusually  warm  this  spring,  so  I  hurried  a  little 
and  came  up  with  my  cousins,  Scrapper  and 
Cresty.     That  is  something  I  don't  often  do." 

[55] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

"If  you  please,"  Peter  inquired  politely,  "why 
do  folks  call  you  Wood  Pewee  ?  " 

Pewee  chuckled  happily.  "It  must  be,"  said 
he,  "because  I  am  so  very  fond  of  the  Green 
Forest.  It  is  so  quiet  and  restful  that  I  love  it. 
Mrs.  Pewee  and  I  are  very  retiring.  We  do  not 
like  too  many  near  neighbors." 

"You  won't  mind  if  I  come  to  see  you  once  in  a 
while,  will  you?"  asked  Peter  as  he  prepared  to 
start  on  again  for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch. 

"Come  as  often  as  you  like,"  replied  Pewee. 
"The  oftener  the  better." 

Back  in  the  Old  Briar-patch  Peter  thought  over 
all  he  had  learned  about  the  Flycatcher  family, 
and  as  he  recalled  how  they  were  forever  catch- 
ing all  sorts  of  flying  insects  it  suddenly  struck 
him  that  they  must  be  very  useful  little  people 
in  helping  Old  Mother  Nature  take  care  of  her 
trees  and  other  growing  things  which  insects  so 
dearly  love  to  destroy. 

But  most  of  all  Peter  thought  about  that  queer 
request  of  Cresty's,  and  a  dozen  times  that  day 
he  found  himself  peeping  under  old  logs  in  the 
hope  of  finding  a  cast-off  coat  of  Mr.  Black  Snake. 
It  was  such  a  funny  thing  for  Cresty  to  ask  for 
that  Peter's  curiosity  would  allow  him  no  peace, 
and  the  next  morning  he  was  up  in  the  Old  Orchard 
before  jolly  Mr.  Sun  had  kicked  his  bedclothes  off. 

[56] 


Old  Clothes  and  Old  Houses 

Jenny  Wren  was  as  good  as  her  word.  While 
she  flitted  and  hopped  about  this  way  and  that 
way  in  that  fussy  way  of  hers,  getting  her  break- 
fast, she  talked.  Jenny  couldn't  keep  her  tongue 
still  if  she  wanted  to. 

"Did  you  find  any  old  clothes  of  the  Snake 
family?"  she  demanded.  Then  as  Peter  shook 
his  head  her  tongue  ran  on  without  waiting  for 
him  to  reply.  "Cresty  and  his  wife  always  insist 
upon  having  a  piece  of  Snake  skin  in  their  nest," 
said  she.  "Why  they  want  it,  goodness  knows! 
But  they  do  want  it  and  never  can  seem  to  settle 
down  to  housekeeping  unless  they  have  it.  Per- 
haps they  think  it  will  scare  robbers  away.  As 
for  me,  I  should  have  a  cold  chill  every  time  I 
got  into  my  nest  if  I  had  to  sit  on  anything  like 
that.  I  have  to  admit  that  Cresty  and  his  wife 
are  a  handsome  couple,  and  they  certainly  have 
good  sense  in  choosing  a  house,  more  sense  than 
any  other  member  of  their  family  to  my  way  of 
thinking.     But  Snake  skins!     Ugh!" 

"By  the  way,  where  does  Cresty  build?"  asked 
Peter. 

"In  a  hole  in  a  tree,  like  the  rest  of  us  sensible 
people,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren  promptly. 

Peter  looked  quite  as  surprised  as  he  felt. 
"Does  Cresty  make  the  hole?"  he  asked. 

,  "Goodness    gracious,    no!"    exclaimed    Jenny 

[57] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

Wren.  "Where  are  your  eyes,  Peter?  Did  you 
ever  see  a  Flycatcher  with  a  bill  that  looked  as 
if  it  could  cut  wood?"  She  didn't  wait  for  a 
reply,  but  rattled  on.  ''It  is  a  good  thing  for  a 
lot  of  us  that  the  Woodpecker  family  are  so  fond 
of  new  houses.  Look !  There  is  Downy  the 
Woodpecker  hard  at  work  on  a  new  house  this 
very  minute.  That's  good.  I  like  to  see  that. 
It  means  that  next  year  there  will  be  one  more 
house  for  some  one  here  in  the  Old  Orchard.  For 
myself  I  prefer  old  houses.  I've  noticed  there 
are  a  number  of  my  neighbors  who  feel  the  same 
way  about  it.  There  is  something  settled  about 
an  old  house.  It  doesn't  attract  attention  the 
way  a  new  one  does.  So  long  as  it  has  got  reason- 
ably good  walls,  and  the  rain  and  the  wind  can't 
get  in,  the  older  it  is  the  better  it  suits  me.  But 
the  Woodpeckers  seem  to  like  new  houses  best, 
which,  as  I  said  before,  is  a  very  good  thing  for 
the  rest  of  us."  ■■ 

"Who  is  there  besides  you  and  Cresty  and  Bully 
the  English  Sparrow  who  uses  these  old  Wood- 
pecker houses  ? "  asked  Peter. 

"Winsome  Bluebird,  stupid!"  snapped  Jenny 
Wren.  i 

|g  Peter  grinned  and  looked  foolish.  "Of  course," 
said  he.     "I  forgot  all  about  Winsome."  •■* 

:And  Skimmer  the  Tree  Swallow,"  added  Jenny. 

[58] 


(t 


. 


Old  Clothes  and  Old  Houses 

"  That's  so ;  I  ought  to  have  remembered  him," 
exclaimed  Peter.  "I've  noticed  that  he  is  very- 
fond  of  the  same  house  year  after  year.  Is  there 
anybody  else?" 

Again  Jenny  Wren  nodded.  "Yank-Yank  the 
Nuthatch  uses  an  old  house,  I'm  told,  but  he 
usually  goes  up  North  for  his  nesting,"  said  she. 
"Tommy  Tit  the  Chickadee  sometimes  uses  an 
old  house.  Then  again  he  and  Mrs.  Chickadee 
get  fussy  and  make  a  house  for  themselves. 
Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker,  who  really  is  a  Wood- 
pecker, often  uses  an  old  house,  but  quite 
often  makes  a  new  one.  Then  there  are  Killy 
the  Sparrow  Hawk  and  Spooky  the  Screech 
Owl."  ■  ■     ..      - 

Peter  looked  surprised.  "I  didn't  suppose  they 
nested  in  holes  in  trees  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"They  certainly  do,  more's  the  pity  !"  snapped 
Jenny.  "It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  the  rest 
of  us  if  they  didn't  nest  at  all.  But  they  do,  and 
an  old  house  of  Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker  suits 
either  of  them.  Killy  always  uses  one  that  is 
high  up,  and  comes  back  to  it  year  after  year. 
Spooky  isn't  particular  so  long  as  the  house  is 
big  enough  to  be  comfortable.  He  lives  in  it 
more  or  less  the  year  around.  Now  I  must  get 
back  to  those  eggs  of  mine.  I've  talked  quite 
enough  for  one  morning." 

[59] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 


a, 


Oh,  Jenny,"  cried  Peter,  as  a  sudden  thought 
struck  him. 

Jenny  paused  and  jerked  her  tail  impatiently. 
"Well,  what  is  it  now?"  she  demanded. 

"Have  you  got  two  homes?"  asked  Peter. 

"Goodness  gracious,  no!"  exclaimed  Jenny. 
"What  do  you  suppose  I  want  of  two  homes? 
One  is  all  I  can  take  care  of." 

"Then  why,"  demanded  Peter  triumphantly, 
"does  Mr.  Wren  work  all  day  carrying  sticks  and 
straws  into  a  hole  in  another  tree?  It  seems  to 
me  that  he  has  carried  enough  in  there  to  build 
two  or  three  nests." 

Jenny  Wren's  eyes  twinkled,  and  she  laughed 
softly.  "Mr.  Wren  just  has  to  be  busy  about 
something,  bless  his  heart,"  said  she.  "He  hasn't 
a  lazy  feather  on  him.  He's  building  that  nest 
to  take  up  his  time  and  keep  out  of  mischief. 
Besides,  if  he  fills  that  hollow  up  nobody  else  will 
take  it,  and  you  know  we  might  want  to  move 
some  time.  Good-by,  Peter."  With  a  final  jerk 
of  her  tail  Jenny  Wren  flew  to  the  little  round 
doorway  of  her  house  and  popped  inside. 


[60] 


CHAPTER  IX 

LONGBILL   AND    TEETER 

From  the  decided  way  in  which  Jenny  Wren 
had  popped  into  the  little  round  doorway  of  her 
home,  Peter  knew  that  to  wait  in  the  hope  of  more 
gossip  with  her  would  be  a  waste  of  time.  He 
wasn't  ready  to  go  back  home  to  the  dear  Old 
Briar-patch,  yet  there  seemed  nothing  else  to 
do,  for  everybody  in  the  Old  Orchard  was  too  busy 
for  idle  gossip.  Peter  scratched  a  long  ear  with  a 
long  hind  foot,  trying  to  think  of  some  place  to 
go.  Just  then  he  heard  the  clear  "peep,  peep, 
peep"  of  the  Hylas,  the  sweet  singers  of  the 
Smiling  Pool. 

"That's  where  I'll  go!"  exclaimed  Peter.  "I 
haven't  been  to  the  Smiling  Pool  for  some  time. 
I'll  just  run  over  and  pay  my  respects  to  Grand- 
father Frog,  and  to  Redwing  the  Blackbird. 
Redwing  was  one  of  the  first  birds  to  arrive,  and 
I've  neglected  him  shamefully." 

When  Peter  thinks  of  something  to  do  he  wastes 
no  time.  Off  he  started,  lipperty-lipperty-lip,  for 
the  Smiling  Pool.  He  kept  close  to  the  edge  of 
the  Green  Forest  until  he  reached  the  place  where 

[01] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

the  Laughing  Brook  comes  out  of  the  Green 
Forest  on  its  way  to  the  Smiling  Pool  in  the  Green 
Meadows.  Bushes  and  young  trees  grow  along 
the  banks  of  the  Laughing  Brook  at  this  point. 
The  ground  was  soft  in  places,  quite  muddy. 
Peter  doesn't  mind  getting  his  feet  damp,  so  he 
hopped  along  carelessly.  From  right  under  his 
very  nose  something  shot  up  into  the  air  with  a 
whistling  sound.  It  startled  Peter  so  that  he 
stopped  short  with  his  eyes  popping  out  of  his 
head.  He  had  just  a  glimpse  of  a  brown  form 
disappearing  over  the  tops  of  some  tall  bushes. 
Then  Peter  chuckled.  "I  declare,"  said  he,  "I 
had  forgotten  all  about  my  old  friend,  Longbill 
the  Woodcock.     He  scared  me  for  a  second." 

"Then  you  are  even,"  said  a  voice  close  at  hand. 
"You  scared  him.  I  saw  you  coming,  but  Long- 
bill  didn't."  W* 

Peter  turned  quickly.  There  was  Mrs.  Wood- 
cock peeping  at  him  from  behind  a  tussock  of 
grass. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  scare  him,"  apologized  Peter. 
"I  really  didn't  mean  to.  Do  you  think  he  was 
really  very  much  scared?" 

"Not  too  scared  to  come  back,  anyway,"  said 
Longbill  himself,  dropping  down  just  in  front  of 
Peter.  "I  recognized  you  just  as  I  was  disap- 
pearing over  the  tops  of  the  bushes,  so  I  came  right 

[621 


LONGBILL    THE    WOODCOCK.      Look  for  him  in  damp,  wooded  places. 


It       11$ 


! 


Abu,'/  dfatfifadii. 


BOB    WHITE.      No  other  bird  is  shaped  like  him. 


Longbill  and  Teeter 

back.  I  learned  when  I  was  very  young  that 
when  startled  it  is  best  to  fly  first  and  find  out 
afterwards  whether  or  not  there  is  real  danger. 
I  am  glad  it  is  no  one  but  you,  Peter,  for  I  was 
having  a  splendid  meal  here,  and  I  should  have 
hated  to  leave  it.  You'll  excuse  me  while  I  go 
on  eating,  I  hope.     We  can  talk  between  bites." 

"Certainly  I'll  excuse  you,"  replied  Peter, 
staring  around  very  hard  to  see  what  it  could  be 
Longbill  was  making  such  a  good  meal  of.  But 
Peter  couldn't  see  a  thing  that  looked  good  to  eat. 
There  wasn't  even  a  bug  or  a  worm  crawling  on 
the  ground.  Longbill  took  two  or  three  steps  in 
rather  a  stately  fashion.  Peter  had  to  hide  a 
smile,  for  Longbill  had  such  an  air  of  importance, 
yet  at  the  same  time  was  such  an  odd  looking 
fellow.  He  was  quite  a  little  bigger  than  Welcome 
Robin,  his  tail  was  short,  his  legs  were  short,  and 
his  neck  was  short.  But  his  bill  was  long  enough 
to  make  up.  His  back  was  a  mixture  of  gray, 
brown,  black  and  buff,  while  his  breast  and  under 
parts  were  a  beautiful  reddish-buff.  It  was  his 
head  that  made  him  look  queer.  His  eyes  were 
very  big  and  they  were  set  so  far  back  that  Peter 
wondered  if  it  wasn't  easier  for  him  to  look  be- 
hind him  than  in  front  of  him. 

Suddenly  Longbill  plunged  his  bill  into  the 
ground.     He  plunged  it  in  for  the  whole  length. 

[63] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

Then  he  pulled  it  out  and  Peter  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  tail  end  of  a  worm  disappearing  down  Long- 
bill's  throat.  Where  that  long  bill  had  gone  into 
the  ground  was  a  neat  little  round  hole.  For  the 
first  time  Peter  noticed  that  there  were  many  such 
little  round  holes  all  about.  "Did  you  make  all 
those  little  round  holes?"  exclaimed  Peter. 

"Not  all,"  replied  Longbill.  "Mrs.  Woodcock 
made  some  of  them." 

"And  was  there  a  worm  in  every  one?"  asked 
Peter,  his  eyes  very  wide  with  interest. 

Longbill  nodded.  "Of  course,"  said  he.  "You 
don't  suppose  we  would  take  the  trouble  to  bore 
one  of  them  if  we  didn't  know  that  we  would  get 
a  worm  at  the  end  of  it,  do  you  ?" 

Peter  remembered  how  he  had  watched  Wel- 
come Robin  listen  and  then  suddenly  plunge  his 
bill  into  the  ground  and  pull  out  a  worm.  But  the 
worms  Welcome  Robin  got  were  always  close  to 
the  surface,  while  these  worms  were  so  deep  in 
the  earth  that  Peter  couldn't  understand  how  it 
was  possible  for  any  one  to  know  that  they  were 
there.  Welcome  Robin  could  see  when  he  got 
hold  of  a  worm,  but  Longbill  couldn't.  "Even 
if  you  know  there  is  a  worm  down  there  in  the 
ground,  how  do  you  know  when  you've  reached 
him  ?  And  how  is  it  possible  for  you  to  open  your 
bill  down  there  to  take  him  in?"  asked  Peter. 

[64]. 


Longbill  and  Teeter 

Longbill  chuckled.  "That's  easy,"  said  he. 
"I've  got  the  handiest  bill  that  ever  was.  See 
here!"  Longbill  suddenly  thrust  his  bill  straight 
out  in  front  of  him  and  to  Peter's  astonishment  he 
lifted  the  end  of  the  upper  half  without  opening 
the  rest  of  his  bill  at  all.  "That's  the  way  I  get 
them,"  said  he.  "I  can  feel  them  when  I  reach 
them,  and  then  I  just  open  the  tip  of  my  bill  and 
grab  them.  I  think  there  is  one  right  under  my 
feet  now ;  watch  me  get  him."  Longbill  bored 
into  the  ground  until  his  head  was  almost  against 
it.  When  he  pulled  his  bill  out,  sure  enough, 
there  was  a  worm.  "Of  course,"  explained  Long- 
bill,  "it  is  only  in  soft  ground  that  I  can  do  this. 
That  is  why  I  have  to  fly  away  south  as  soon  as 
the  ground  freezes  at  all." 

"It's  wonderful,"  sighed  Peter.  "I  don't  sup- 
pose any  one  else  can  find  hidden  worms  that  way." 

"My  cousin,  Jack  Snipe,  can,"  replied  Long- 
bill  promptly.  "He  feeds  the  same  way  I  do, 
only  he  likes  marshy  meadows  instead  of  brushy 
swamps.     Perhaps  you  know  him." 

Peter  nodded.  "I  do,"  said  he.  "Now  you 
speak  of  it,  there  is  a  strong  family  resemblance, 
although  I  hadn't  thought  of  him  as  a  relative  of 
yours  before.  Now  I  must  be  running  along. 
I'm  ever  so  glad  to  have  seen  you,  and  I'm  com- 
ing over  to  call  again  the  first  chance  I  get." 

[65] 


® 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

So  Peter  said  good-by  and  kept  on  down  the 
Laughing  Brook  to  the  Smiling  Pool.  Right 
where  the  Laughing  Brook  entered  the  Smiling 
Pool  there  was  a  little  pebbly  beach.  Running 
along  the  very  edge  of  the  water  was  a  slim,  trim 
little  bird  with  fairly  long  legs,  a  long  slender 
bill,  brownish-gray  back  with  black  spots  and 
markings,  and  a  white  waistcoat  neatly  spotted 
with  black.  Every  few  steps  he  would  stop  to 
pick  up  something,  then  stand  for  a  second  bobbing 
up  and  down  in  the  funniest  way,  as  if  his  body 
was  so  nicely  balanced  on  his  legs  that  it  teetered 
back  and  forth  like  a  seesaw.  It  was  Teeter  the 
Spotted  Sandpiper,  an  old  friend  of  Peter's.  Peter 
greeted  him  joyously. 

"Peet-weet!  Peet-weet!"  cried  Teeter,  turning 
towards  Peter  and  bobbing  and  bowing  as  only 
Teeter  can.  Before  Peter  could  say  another  word 
Teeter  came  running  towards  him,  and  it  was 
plain  to  see  that  Teeter  was  very  anxious  about 
something.  "Don't  move,  Peter  Rabbit!  Don't 
move !"  he  cried. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Peter,  for  he  could  see 
no  danger  and  could  think  of  no  reason  why  he 
shouldn't  move.  Just  then  Mrs.  Teeter  came 
hurrying  up  and  squatted  down  in  the  sand  right 
in  front  of  Peter. 

"Thank    goodness!"    exclaimed    Teeter,    still 

[66] 


Longbill  and  Teeter 

bobbing  and  bowing.  "If  you  had  taken  another 
step,  Peter  Rabbit,  you  would  have  stepped 
right  on  our  eggs.  You  gave  me  a  dreadful 
start." 

Peter  was  puzzled.  He  showed  it  as  he  stared 
down  at  Mrs.  Teeter  just  in  front  of  him.  "I 
don't  see  any  nest  or  eggs  or  anything,"  said  he 
rather  testily. 

Mrs.  Teeter  stood  up  and  stepped  aside.  Then 
Peter  saw  right  in  a  little  hollow  in  the  sand,  with 
just  a  few  bits  of  grass  for  a  lining,  four  white 
eggs  with  big  dark  blotches  on  them.  They  looked 
so  much  like  the  surrounding  pebbles  that  he  never 
would  have  seen  them  in  the  world  but  for  Mrs. 
Teeter.  Peter  hastily  backed  away  a  few  steps. 
Mrs.  Teeter  slipped  back  on  the  eggs  and  settled 
herself  comfortably.  It  suddenly  struck  Peter 
that  if  he  hadn't  seen  her  do  it,  he  wouldn't  have 
known  she  was  there.  You  see  she  looked  so 
much  like  her  surroundings  that  he  never  would 
have  noticed  her  at  all. 

"My!"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  certainly  would  have 
stepped  on  those  eggs  if  you  hadn't  warned  me," 
said  he.  "I'm  so  thankful  I  didn't.  I  don't 
see  how  you  dare  lay  them  in  the  open  like 
this." 

Mrs.  Teeter  chuckled  softly.  "It's  the  safest 
place  in  the  world,  Peter,"  said  she.     "They  look 

[67] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

so  much  like  these  pebbles  around  here  that  no 
one  sees  them.  The  only  time  they  are  in  danger 
is  when  somebody  comes  along,  as  you  did,  and 
is  likely  to  step  on  them  without  seeing  them. 
But  that  doesn't  happen  often." 


[68] 


CHAPTER  X 

REDWING  AND  YELLOW  WING 

Peter  had  come  over  to  the  Smiling  Pool 
especially  to  pay  his  respects  to  Redwing  the 
Blackbird,  so  as  soon  as  he  could,  without  being 
impolite,  he  left  little  Mrs.  Teeter  sitting  on  her 
eggs,  and  Teeter  himself  bobbing  and  bowing  in 
the  friendliest  way,  and  hurried  over  to  where 
the  bulrushes  grow.  In  the  very  top  of  the  Big 
Hickory-tree,  a  little  farther  along  on  the  bank 
of  the  Smiling  Pool,  sat  some  one  who  at  that 
distance  appeared  to  be  dressed  all  in  black.  He 
was  singing  as  if  there  were  nothing  but  joy  in  all 
the  great  world.  "  Quong-ka-reee !  Quong-ka- 
reee !  Quong-ka-reee!"  he  sang.  Peter  would 
have  known  from  this  song  alone  that  it  was  Red- 
wing the  Blackbird,  for  there  is  no  other  song 
quite  like  it. 

As  soon  as  Peter  appeared  in  sight  Redwing 
left  his  high  perch  and  flew  down  to  light  among 
the  broken-down  bulrushes.  As  he  flew,  Peter 
saw  the  beautiful  red  patch  on  the  bend  of  each 
wing,  from  which  Redwing  gets  his  name.  "No 
one  could  ever  mistake  him  for  anybody  else," 

[69] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

thought  Peter,  "for  there  isn't  anybody  else  with 
such  beautiful  shoulder  patches."  J 

"What's  the  news,  Peter  Rabbit?"  cried  Red- 
wing, coming  over  to  sit  very  near  Peter. 

"There  isn't  much,"  replied  Peter,  "excepting 
that  Teeter  the  Sandpiper  has  four  eggs  just  a 
little  way  from  here." 

Redwing  chuckled.  "That  is  no  news,  Peter," 
said  he.  "Do  you  suppose  that  I  live  neighbor 
to  Teeter  and  don't  know  where  his  nest  is  and 
all  about  his  affairs  ?  There  isn't  much  going  on 
around  the  Smiling  Pool  that  I  don't  know,  I  can 
tell  you  that." 

Peter  looked  a  little  disappointed,  because  there 
is  nothing  he  likes  better  than  to  be  the  bearer  of 
news.  "I  suppose,"  said  he  politely,  "that  you 
will  be  building  a  nest  pretty  soon  yourself,  Red- 
wing." 

Redwing  chuckled  softly.  It  was  a  happy, 
contented  sort  of  chuckle.  "No,  Peter,"  said 
he.     "I  am  not  going  to  build  a  nest." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Peter,  and  his  two  long 
ears  stood  straight  up  with  astonishment. 

"No,"  replied  Redwing,  still  chuckling.  "I'm 
not  going  to  build  a  nest.  You  see,  Mrs.  Red- 
wing and  I  already  have  a  nest,  and  if  you  want 
to  know  a  little  secret,  we  have  four  as  pretty  eggs 
as  ever  were  laid." 

[70] 


&si 


REDWING    THE    BLACKBIRD.      His  shoulders  are  brilliant  red  with   a  mar- 
gin of  yellow. 

SPECKLES  THE  STARLING.     He  looks  something  like  a  Blackbird  speckled 
with  tiny  light  spots. 


Redwing  and  Yellow  Wing 

Peter  fairly  bubbled  over  with  interest  and 
curiosity.  "How  splendid!"  he  cried.  "Where 
is  your  nest,  Redwing?  I  would  just  love  to  see 
it.  I  suppose  it  is  because  she  is  sitting  on  those 
eggs  that  I  haven't  seen  Mrs.  Redwing.  It  was 
very  stupid  of  rne  not  to  guess  that  folks  who 
come  as  early  as  you  do  would  be  among  the  first 
to  build  a  home.  Where  is  it,  Redwing?  Do 
tell  me." 

Redwing's  eyes  twinkled. 

"A  secret  which  is  known  by  three 
Full  soon  will  not  a  secret  be," 
said  he.     "It  isn't  that  I  don't  trust  you,  Peter. 
I  know  that  you  wouldn't  intentionally  let  my 
secret  slip  out.     But  you  might  do  it  by  accident. 
What  you  don't  know,  you  can't  tell." 

"That's  right,  Redwing.  I  am  glad  you  have 
so  much  sense,"  said  another  voice,  and  Mrs. 
Redwing  alighted  very  near  to  Redwing. 

Peter  couldn't  help  thinking  that  Old  Mother 
Nature  had  been  very  unfair  indeed  in  dressing 
Mrs.  Redwing.  She  was,  if  anything,  a  little 
bit  smaller  than  her  handsome  husband,  and  such 
a  plain,  not  to  say  homely,  little  body  that  it  was 
hard  work  to  realize  that  she  was  a  Blackbird 
at  all.  In  the  first  place  she  wasn't  black.  She 
was  dressed  all  over  in  grayish-brown  with  streaks 
of  darker  brown  which  in  places  were  almost 
"  [71] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

black.  She  wore  no  bright-colored  shoulder 
patches.  In  fact,  there  wasn't  a  bright  feather 
on  her  anywhere.  Peter  wanted  to  ask  why  it 
was  that  she  was  so  plainly  dressed,  but  he  was 
too  polite  and  decided  to  wait  until  he  should  see 
Jenny  Wren.  She  would  be  sure  to  know.  In- 
stead, he  exclaimed,  "How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Red- 
wing? I'm  ever  so  glad  to  see  you.  I  was 
wondering  where  you  were.  Where  did  you  come 
from?" 

"Straight  from  my  home,"  replied  Mrs.  Red- 
wing demurely.  "And  if  I  do  say  it,  it  is  the 
best  home  we've  ever  had." 

Redwing  chuckled.  He  was  full  of  chuckles. 
You  see,  he  had  noticed  how  eagerly  Peter  was 
looking  everywhere. 

"This  much  I  will  tell  you,  Peter,"  said  Red- 
wing; "our  nest  is  somewhere  in  these  bulrushes, 
and  if  you  can  find  it  we  won't  say  a  word,  even 
if  you  don't  keep  the  secret." 

Then  Redwing  chuckled  again  and  Mrs.  Red- 
wing chuckled  with  him.  You  see,  they  knew 
that  Peter  doesn't  like  water,  and  that  nest  was 
hidden  in  a  certain  clump  of  brown,  broken-down 
rushes,  with  water  all  around.  Suddenly  Red- 
wing flew  up  in  the  air  with  a  harsh  cry.  "Run, 
Peter!  Run!"  he  screamed.  "Here  comes 
ReddyFox!" 

[72] 


Redwing  and  Yellow  Wing 

Peter  didn't  wait  for  a  second  warning.  He 
knew  by  the  sound  of  Redwing's  voice  that  Red- 
wing wasn't  joking.  There  was  just  one  place  of 
safety,  and  that  was  an  old  hole  of  Grandfather 
Chuck's  between  the  roots  of  the  Big  Hickory- 
tree.  Peter  didn't  waste  any  time  getting  there, 
and  he  was  none  too  soon,  for  Reddy  was  so  close 
at  his  heels  that  he  pulled  some  white  hairs  out  of 
Peter's  tail  as  Peter  plunged  headfirst  down  that 
hole.  It  was  a  lucky  thing  for  Peter  that  that 
hole  was  too  small  for  Reddy  to  follow  and  the 
roots  prevented  Reddy  from  digging  it  any  bigger. 

For  a  long  time  Peter  sat  in  Grandfather  Chuck's 
old  house,  wondering  how  soon  it  would  be  safe 
for  him  to  come  out.  For  a  while  he  heard  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Redwing  scolding  sharply,  and  by  this 
he  knew  that  Reddy  Fox  was  still  about.  By 
and  by  they  stopped  scolding,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  he  heard  Redwing's  happy  song.  "That 
means,"  thought  Peter,  "that  Reddy  Fox  has 
gone  away,  but  I  think  I'll  sit  here  a  while  longer 
to  make  sure." 

Now  Peter  was  sitting  right  under  the  Big 
Hickory-tree.  After  a  while  he  began  to  hear  faint 
little  sounds,  little  taps,  and  scratching  sounds  as 
of  claws.  They  seemed  to  come  from  right  over 
his  head,  but  he  knew  that  there  was  no  one  in  that 
hole  but  himself.     He  couldn't  understand  it  at  all. 

[73] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Boole  for  Children 

Finally  Peter  decided  it  would  be  safe  to  peek 
outside.  Very  carefully  he  poked  his  head  out. 
Just  as  he  did  so,  a  little  chip  struck  him  right  on 
the  nose.  Peter  pulled  his  head  back  hurriedly 
and  stared  at  the  little  chip  which  lay  just  in  front 
of  the  hole.  Then  two  or  three  more  little  chips 
fell.  Peter  knew  that  they  must  come  from  up 
in  the  Big  Hickory -tree,  and  right  away  his  curi- 
osity was  aroused.  Redwing  was  singing  so  hap- 
pily that  Peter  felt  sure  no  danger  was  near,  so 
he  hopped  outside  and  looked  up  to  find  out  where 
those  little  chips  had  come  from.  Just  a  few 
feet  above  his  head  he  saw  a  round  hole  in  the 
trunk  of  the  Big  Hickory-tree.  While  he  was  look- 
ing at  it,  a  head  with  a  long  stout  bill  was  thrust 
out  and  in  that  bill  were  two  or  three  little  chips. 
Peter's  heart  gave  a  little  jump  of  glad  surprise. 

"  Yellow  Wing  ! "  he  cried.  "  My  goodness,  how 
you  startled  me !" 

The  chips  were  dropped  and  the  head  was  ftlrust 
farther  out.  The  sides  and  throat  were  a  soft 
reddish-tan  and  on  each  side  at  the  beginning  of  the 
bill  was  a  black  patch.  The  top  of  the  head  was 
gray  and  just  at  the  back  was  a  little  band  of  bright 
red.  There  was  no  mistaking  that  head.  It  be- 
longed to  Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker  beyond  a  doubt. 

"Hello,  Peter!"  exclaimed  Yellow  Wing,  his 
eyes  twinkling.     "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

[74] 


YELLOW  WING  THE  FLICKER.  The  bright  yellow  of  the  underside  of 
each  wing,  the  black  crescent  across  his  breast  and  his  spotted  underparts  make 
him  easy  to  identify. 


Redwing  and  Yellow  Wing 

"Nothing,"  replied  Peter,  "but  I  want  to  know 
what  you  are  doing.     What  are  all  those  chips?" 

"I'm  fixing  up  this  old  house  of  mine,"  replied 
Yellow  Wing  promptly.  "It  wasn't  quite  deep 
enough  to  suit  me,  so  I  am  making  it  a  little 
deeper.  Mrs.  Yellow  Wing  and  I  haven't  been 
able  to  find  another  house  to  suit  us,  so  we  have 
decided  to  live  here  again  this  year."  He  came 
wholly  out  and  flew  down  on  the  ground  near 
Peter.  When  his  wings  were  spread,  Peter  saw 
that  on  the  under  sides  they  were  a  beautiful 
golden-yellow,  as  were  the  under  sides  of  his  tail 
feathers.  Around  his  throat  was  a  broad,  black 
collar.  From  this,  clear  to  his  tail,  were  black 
dots.  When  his  wings  were  spread,  the  upper 
part  of  his  body  just  above  the  tail  was  pure  white. 

"My,"  exclaimed  Peter,  "you  are  a  handsome 
fellow !  I  never  realized  before  how  handsome 
you  are." 

Yellow  WTing  looked  pleased.  Perhaps  he  felt 
a  little  flattered.  "I  am  glad  you  think  so,  Peter," 
said  he.  "I  am  rather  proud  of  my  suit,  myself. 
I  don't  know  of  any  member  of  my  family  with 
whom  I  would  change  coats." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Peter.  "What  family 
do  you  belong  to?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"The  Woodpecker  family,"  replied  Yellow  Wing 
proudly. 

[75] 


CHAPTER  XI 

DRUMMERS    AND    CARPENTERS 

Peter  Rabbit  was  so  full  of  questions  that  he 
hardly  knew  which  one  to  ask  first.  But  Yellow 
Wing  the  Flicker  didn't  give  him  a  chance  to  ask 
any.  From  the  edge  of  the  Green  Forest  there 
came  a  clear,  loud  call  of,  "Pe-ok!  Pe-ok ! 
Pe-ok!" 

"Excuse  me,  Peter,  there's  Mrs.  Yellow  Wing 
calling  me,"  exclaimed  Yellow  Wing,  and  away 
he  went.  Peter  noticed  that  as  he  flew  he  went 
up  and  down.  It  seemed  very  much  as  if  he 
bounded  through  the  air  just  as  Peter  bounds  over 
the  ground.  "I  would  know  him  by  the  way  he 
flies  just  as  far  as  I  could  see  him,"  thought  Peter, 
as  he  started  for  home  in  the  dear  Old  Briar- 
patch.  "Somehow  he  doesn't  seem  like  a  Wood- 
pecker because  he  is  on  the  ground  so  much.  I 
must  ask  Jenny  Wren  about  him." 

It  was  two  or  three  days  before  Peter  had  a 
chance  for  a  bit  of  gossip  with  Jenny  Wren. 
When  he  did  the  first  thing  he  asked  was  if  Yellow 
Wing  is  a  true  Woodpecker. 

[76] 


Drummers  and  Carpenters 

"Certainly  he  is,"  replied  Jenny  Wren.  "Of 
course  he  is.  Why  under  the  sun  should  you 
think  he  isn't?" 

"Because  it  seems  to  me  he  is  on  the  ground 
more  than  he's  in  the  trees,"  retorted  Peter.  "I 
don't  know  any  other  Woodpeckers  who  come 
down  on  the  ground  at  all." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!"  scolded  Jenny.  "Think 
a  minute,  Peter  !  Think  a  minute  !  Haven't  you 
ever  seen  Redhead  on  the  ground?" 

Peter  blinked  his  eyes.  "Ye-e-s,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  have.  I've  seen 
him  picking  up  beechnuts  in  the  fall.  The  Wood- 
peckers are  a  funny  family.  I  don't  understand 
them." 

Just  then  a  long,  rolling  rat-a-tat-tat  rang  out 
just  over  their  heads.  "There's  another  one  of 
them,"  chuckled  Jenny.  "That's  Downy,  the 
smallest  of  the  whole  family.  He  certainly  makes 
an  awful  racket  for  such  a  little  fellow.  He  is  a 
splendid  drummer  and  he's  just  as  good  a  car- 
penter. He  made  the  very  house  I  am  occupying 
now." 

Peter  was  sitting  with  his  head  tipped  back 
trying  to  see  Downy.  At  first  he  couldn't  make 
him  out.  Then  he  caught  a  little  movement  on 
top  of  a  dead  limb.  It  was  Downy 's  head  flying 
back  and  forth  as  he  beat  his  long  roll.     He  was 

1 77  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

dressed  all  in  black  and  white.  On  the  back  of 
his  head  was  a  little  scarlet  patch.  He  was  mak- 
ing a  tremendous  racket  for  such  a  little  chap, 
only  a  little  bigger  than  one  of  the  Sparrow  family. 

"  Is  he  making  a  hole  for  a  nest  up  there  ?  "  asked 
Peter  eagerly. 

"  Gracious,  Peter,  what  a  question !  What  a 
perfectly  silly  question!"  exclaimed  Jenny  Wren 
scornfully.  "Do  give  us  birds  credit  for  a  little 
common  sense.  If  he  were  cutting  a  hole  for  a 
nest,  everybody  within  hearing  would  know  just 
where  to  look  for  it.  Downy  has  too  much  sense 
in  that  little  head  of  his  to  do  such  a  silly  thing 
as  that.  When  he  cuts  a  hole  for  a  nest  he  doesn't 
make  any  more  noise  than  is  absolutely  necessary. 
You  don't  see  any  chips  flying,  do  you  ?" 

"No-o,"  replied  Peter  slowly.  "Now  you  speak 
of  it,  I  don't.  Is  —  is  he  hunting  for  worms  in 
the  wood?" 

Jenny  laughed  right  out.  "Hardly,  Peter, 
hardly,"  said  she.  "He's  just  drumming,  that's 
all.  That  hollow  limb  makes  the  best  kind  of  a 
drum  and  Downy  is  making  the  most  of  it.  Just 
listen  to  that !  There  isn't  a  better  drummer 
anywhere." 

But  Peter  wasn't  satisfied.     Finally  he  ventured 
another  question.     "What's  he  doing  it  for?" 
Good  land,  Peter!"  cried  Jenny.     "What  do 

[78]    . 


<<  i 


Drummers  and  Carpenters 

you  run  and  jump  for  in  the  spring  ?  What  is  Mr. 
Wren  singing  for  over  there?  Downy  is  drum- 
ming for  precisely  the  same  reason  —  happiness. 
He  can't  run  and  jump  and  he  can't  sing,  but 
he  can  drum.  By  the  way,  do  you  know  that 
Downy  is  one  of  the  most  useful  birds  in  the  Old 
Orchard?" 

Just  then  Downy  flew  away,  but  hardly  had  he 
disappeared  when  another  drummer  took  his 
place.  At  first  Peter  thought  Downy  had  re- 
turned until  he  noticed  that  the  newcomer  was 
just  a  bit  bigger  than  Downy.  Jenny  Wrren's 
sharp  eyes  spied  him  at  once. 

"Hello!"  she  exclaimed.  "There's  Hairy.  Did 
you  ever  see  two  cousins  look  more  alike?  If  it 
were  not  that  Hairy  is  bigger  than  Downy  it  would 
be  hard  work  to  tell  them  apart.  Do  you  see  any 
other  difference,  Peter?" 

Peter  stared  and  blinked  and  stared  again, 
then  slowly  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  confessed, 
"I  don't."- 

"That  shows  you  haven't  learned  to  use  your 
eyes,  Peter,"  said  Jenny  rather  sharply.  "Look 
at  the  outside  feathers  of  his  tail ;  they  are  all 
white.  Downy's  outside  tail  feathers  have  little 
bars  of  black.  Hairy  is  just  as  good  a  carpenter 
as  is  Downy,  but  for  that  matter  I  don't  know  of 
a  member  of  the  Woodpecker  family  who  isn't  a 

[79] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

good  carpenter.     Where  did  you  say  Yellow  Wing 
the  Flicker  is  making  his  home  this  year?" 

"Over  in  the  Big  Hickory -tree  by  the  Smiling 
Pool,"  replied  Peter.  "I  don't  understand  yet 
why  Yellow  Wing  spends  so  much  time  on  the 
ground." 

"Ants,"  replied  Jenny  Wren.  "Just  ants.  He's 
as  fond  of  ants  as  is  Old  Mr.  Toad,  and  that  is 
saying  a  great  deal.  If  Yellow  Wing  keeps  on 
he'll  become  a  ground  bird  instead  of  a  tree  bird. 
He  gets  more  than  half  his  living  on  the  ground 
now.  Speaking  of  drumming,  did  you  ever  hear 
Yellow  Wing  drum  on  a  tin  roof?" 

Peter  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  if  there's  a  tin  roof  anywhere  around, 
and  Yellow  Wing  can  find  it,  he  will  be  perfectly 
happy.  He  certainly  does  love  to  make  a  noise, 
and  tin  makes  the  finest  kind  of  a  drum." 

Just  then  Jenny  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival, 
on  the  trunk  of  the  very  next  tree  to  the  one  on 
which  she  was  sitting,  of  a  bird  about  the  size 
of  Sammy  Jay.  His  whole  head  and  neck  were  a 
beautiful,  deep  red.  His  breast  was  pure  white, 
and  his  back  was  black  to  nearly  the  beginning  of 
his  tail,  where  it  was  white. 

"Hello,  Redhead!"  exclaimed  Jenny  Wren. 
"How  did  you  know  we  were  talking  about  your 
family?" 

[80] 


US** 


REDHEAD    THE    WOODPECKER.      You   will    know   him    instantly  by  his 
all-red  head. 

DOWNY    THE    WOODPECKER.      His  smaller  size  and  the  black  bars  on  the 
white  outer  feathers  of  his  tail  distinguish  him. 


Drummers  and  Carpenters 

"Hello,  chatterbox,"  retorted  Redhead  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "I  didn't  know  you  were 
talking  about  my  family,  but  I  could  have  guessed 
that  you  were  talking  about  some  one's  family. 
Does  your  tongue  ever  stop,  Jenny?" 

Jenny  Wren  started  to  become  indignant  and 
scold,  then  thought  better  of  it.  "I  was  talking 
for  Peter's  benefit,"  said  she,  trying  to  look  digni- 
fied, a  thing  quite  impossible  for  any  member  of 
the  Wren  family  to  do.  "Peter  has  always  had 
the  idea  that  true  Woodpeckers  never  go  down 
on  the  ground.  I  was  explaining  to  him  that 
Yellow  Wing  is  a  true  Woodpecker,  yet  spends 
half  his  time  on  the  ground." 

Redhead  nodded.  "It's  all  on  account  of  ants,'* 
said  he.  "I  don't  know  of  any  one  quite  so  fond 
of  ants  unless  it  is  Old  Mr.  Toad.  I  like  a  few  of 
them  myself,  but  Yellow  Wing  just  about  lives 
on  them  when  he  can.  You  may  have  noticed 
that  I  go  down  on  the  ground  myself  once  in  a 
while.  I  am  rather  fond  of  beetles,  and  an  oc- 
casional grasshopper  tastes  very  good  to  me.  I 
like  a  variety.  Yes,  sir,  I  certainly  do  like  a 
variety  —  cherries,  blackberries,  raspberries,  straw- 
berries, grapes.  In  fact  most  kinds  of  fruit  taste 
good  to  me,  not  to  mention  beechnuts  and  acorns 
when  there  is  no  fruit." 

Jenny   Wren    tossed   her   head.     "You   didn't 

[81] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

mention  the  eggs  of  some  of  your  neighbors,"  said 
she  sharply. 

Redhead  did  his  best  to  look  innocent,  but 
Peter  noticed  that  he  gave  a  guilty  start  and  very 
abruptly  changed  the  subject,  and  a  moment 
later  flew  away.       * 

"Is  it  true,"  asked  Peter,  "that  Redhead  does 
such  a  dreadful  thing  ?  "  ^ 

Jenny  bobbed  her  head  rapidly  and  jerked  her 
tail.  "So  I  am  told,"  said  she.  "I've  never 
seen  him  do  it,  but  I  know  others  who  have. 
They  say  he  is  no  better  than  Sammy  Jay  or 
Blacky  the  Crow.  But  gracious,  goodness !  I 
can't  sit  here  gossiping  forever."  Jenny  twitched 
her  funny  little  tail,  snapped  her  bright  eyes  at 
Peter,  and  disappeared  in  her  house. 


[m] 


CHAPTER  XII 

SOME    UNLIKE    RELATIVES 

Having  other  things  to  attend  to,  or  rather 
having  other  things  to  arouse  his  curiosity,  Peter 
Rabbit  did  not  visit  the  Old  Orchard  for  several 
days.  When  he  did  it  was  to  find  the  entire 
neighborhood  quite  upset.  There  was  an  indig- 
nation meeting  in  progress  in  and  around  the  tree 
in  which  Chebec  and  his  modest  little  wife  had 
their  home.  How  the  tongues  did  clatter  !  Peter 
knew  that  something  had  happened,  but  though 
he  listened  with  all  his  might  he  couldn't  make 
head  or  tail  of  it. 

Finally  Peter  managed  to  get  the  attention  of 
Jenny  Wren.  "What's  happened?"  demanded 
Peter.     "What's  all  this  fuss  about  ? " 

Jenny  Wren  was  so  excited  that  she  couldn't 
keep  still  an  instant.  Her  sharp  little  eyes  snapped 
and  her  tail  was  carried  higher  than  ever.  "It's 
a  disgrace  !  It's  a  disgrace  to  the  whole  feathered 
race,  and  something  ought  to  be  done  about  it!" 
sputtered  Jenny.  "I'm  ashamed  to  think  that 
such  a  contemptible  creature  wears  feathers !  I 
am  so!" 

[83] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

"But  what's  it  all  about?"  demanded  Peter 
impatiently.  "Do  keep  still  long  enough  to  tell 
me.     Who  is  this  contemptible  creature?" 

"Sally  Sly,"  snapped  Jenny  Wren.  "Sally  Sly 
the  Cowbird.  I  hoped  she  wouldn't  disgrace  the 
Old  Orchard  this  year,  but  she  has.  When  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Chebec  returned  from  getting  their 
breakfast  this  morning  they  found  one  of  Sally 
Sly's  eggs  in  their  nest.  They  are  terribly  upset, 
and  I  don't  blame  them.  If  I  were  in  their  place 
I  simply  would  throw  that  egg  out.  That's  what 
I'd  do,  I'd  throw  that  egg  out !" 

Peter  was  puzzled.  He  blinked  his  eyes  and 
stroked  his  whiskers  as  he  tried  to  understand 
what  it  all  meant.  "Who  is  Sally  Sly,  and  what 
did  she  do  that  for  ?  "  he  finally  ventured. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Peter  Rabbit,  do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know  who  Sally  Sly 
is?"  Then  without  waiting  for  Peter  to  reply, 
Jenny  rattled  on.  "She's  a  member  of  the  Black- 
bird family  and  she's  the  laziest,  most  good-for- 
nothing,  sneakiest,  most  unfeeling  and  most  self- 
ish wretch  I  know  of!"  Jenny  paused  long 
enough  to  get  her  breath.  "She  laid  that  egg  in 
Chebec's  nest  because  she  is  too  lazy  to  build  a 
nest  of  her  own  and  too  selfish  to  take  care  of  her 
own  children.  Do  you  know  what  will  happen, 
Peter  Rabbit  ?     Do  you  know  what  will  happen  ?  " 

[  84  ] 


Some  Unlike  Relatives 

Peter  shook  his  head  and  confessed  that  he 
didn't.  "When  that  egg  hatches  out,  that  young 
Cowbird  will  be  about  twice  as  big  as  Chebec's 
own  children,"  sputtered  Jenny.  "He'll  be  so 
big  that  he'll  get  most  of  the  food.  He'll  just  rob 
those  little  Chebecs  in  spite  of  all  their  mother  and 
father  can  do.  And  Chebec  and  his  wife  will  be 
just  soft-hearted  enough  to  work  themselves  to 
skin  and  bone  to  feed  the  young  wretch  because  he 
is  an  orphan  and  hasn't  anybody  to  look  after 
him.  The  worst  of  it  is,  Sally  Sly  is  likely  to  play 
the  same  trick  on  others.  She  always  chooses 
the  nest  of  some  one  smaller  than  herself.  She's 
terribly  sly.  No  one  has  seen  her  about.  She 
just  sneaked  into  the  Old  Orchard  this  morning 
when  everybody  was  busy,  laid  that  egg  and 
sneaked  out  again." 

"Did  you  say  that  she  is  a  member  of  the  Black- 
bird family?"  asked  Peter. 

Jenny  Wren  nodded  vigorously.  'That's  what 
she  is,"  said  she.  "Thank  goodness,  she  isn't  a 
member  of  my  family.  If  she  were  I  never  would 
be  able  to  hold  my  head  up.  Just  listen  to  Goldy 
the  Oriole  over  in  that  big  elm.  I  don't  see  how 
he  can  sing  like  that,  knowing  that  one  of  his 
relatives  has  just  done  such  a  shameful  deed. 
It's  a  queer  thing  that  there  can  be  two  members 
of  the  same  family  so  unlike.     Mrs.  Goldy  builds 

[85] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

one  of  the  most  wonderful  nests  of  any  one  I  know, 
and  Sally  Sly  is  too  lazy  to  build  any.  If  I  were 
in  Goldy's  place  I  — " 

"Hold  on!"  cried  Peter.  "I  thought  you  said 
Sally  Sly  is  a  member  of  the  Blackbird  family. 
I  don't  see  what  she's  got  to  do  with  Goldy  the 
Oriole." 

"You  don't,  eh?"  exclaimed  Jenny.  "Well, 
for  one  who  pokes  into  other  people's  affairs  as 
you  do,  you  don't  know  much.  The  Orioles  and 
the  Meadow  Larks  and  the  Grackles  and  the 
Bobolinks  all  belong  to  the  Blackbird  family. 
They're  all  related  to  Redwing  the  Blackbird,  and 
Sally  Sly  the  Cowbird  belongs  in  the  same  family." 

Peter  gasped.  "I  —  I  —  hadn't  the  least  idea 
that  any  of  these  folks  were  related,"  stammered 
Peter. 

"Well,  they  are,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren.  "As 
I  live,  there's  Sally  Sly  now !" 

Peter  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  brownish-gray  bird 
who  reminded  him  somewhat  of  Mrs.  Redwing. 
She  was  about  the  same  size  and  looked  very 
much  like  her.  It  was  plain  that  she  was  trying 
to  keep  out  of  sight,  and  the  instant  she  knew  that 
she  had  been  discovered  she  flew  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  Old  Pasture.  It  happened  that 
late  that  afternoon  Peter  visited  the  Old  Pasture 
and  saw  her  again.     She  and  some  of  her  friends 

[  86  ] 


Some  Unlike  Relatives 

were  busily  walking  about  close  to  the  feet  of  the 
cows,  where  they  seemed  to  be  picking  up  food. 
One  had  a  brown  head,  neck  and  breast ;  the  rest 
of  his  coat  was  glossy  black.  Peter  rightly  guessed 
that  this  must  be  Mr.  Cowbird.  Seeing  them  on 
such  good  terms  with  the  cows  he  understood  why 
they  are  called  Cowbirds. 

Sure  that  Sally  Sly  had  left  the  Old  Orchard,  the 
feathered  folks  settled  down  to  their  personal 
affairs  and  household  cares,  Jenny  Wren  among 
them.  Having  no  one  to  talk  to,  Peter  found  a 
shady  place  .close  to  the  old  stone  wall  and  there 
sat  down  to  think  over  the  surprising  things  he  had 
learned.  Presently  Goldy  the  Baltimore  Oriole 
alighted  in  the  nearest  apple-tree,  and  it  seemed 
to  Peter  that  never  had  he  seen  any  one  more 
beautifully  dressed.  His  head,  neck,  throat  and 
upper  part  of  his  back  were  black.  The  lower 
part  of  his  back  and  his  breast  were  a  beautiful 
deep  orange  color.  There  was  a  dash  of  orange 
on  his  shoulders,  but  the  rest  of  his  wings  were 
black  with  an  edging  of  white.  His  tail  was  black 
and  orange.  Peter  had  heard  him  called  the 
Firebird,  and  now  he  understood  why.  His  song 
was  quite  as  rich  and  beautiful  as  his  coat. 

Shortly  he  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Goldy.  Com- 
pared with  her  handsome  husband  she  was  very 
modestly   dressed.     She   wore   more   brown   than 

[87] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

black,  and  where  the  orange  color  appeared  it  was 
rather  dull.  She  wasted  no  time  in  singing. 
Almost  instantly  her  sharp  eyes  spied  a  piece  of 
string  caught  in  the  bushes  almost  over  Peter's 
head.  With  a  little  cry  of  delight  she  flew  down 
and  seized  it.  But  the  string  was  caught,  and 
though  she  tugged  and  pulled  with  all  her  might 
she  couldn't  get  it  free.  Goldy  saw  the  trouble 
she  was  having  and  cutting  his  song  short,  flew 
down  to  help  her.  Together  they  pulled  and 
tugged  and  tugged  and  pulled,  until  they  had  to 
stop  to  rest  and  get  their  breath. 

"We  simply  must  have  this  piece  of  string," 
said  Mrs.  Goldy.  "I've  been  hunting  everywhere 
for  a  piece,  and  this  is  the  first  I've  found.  It  is 
just  what  we  need  to  bind  our  nest  fast  to  the 
twigs.  With  this  I  won't  have  the  least  bit  of 
fear  that  that  nest  will  ever  tear  loose,  no  matter 
how  hard  the  wind  blows." 

Once  more  they  tugged  and  pulled  and  pulled 
and  tugged  until  at  last  they  got  it  free,  and  Mrs. 
Goldy  flew  away  in  triumph  with  the  string  in 
her  bill.  Goldy  himself  followed.  Peter  watched 
them  fly  to  the  tip  of  a  long,  swaying  branch  of  a 
big  elm-tree  up  near  Farmer  Brown's  house.  He 
could  see  something  which  looked  like  a  bag 
hanging  there,  and  he  knew  that  this  must  be  the 
nest. 

[88] 


-' 


-v£r» 


/nui  mtfrifck 


GOLDIE   THE   BALTIMORE    ORIOLE.     He  is  almost   wholly   black  and 
orange  and  nearly  the  size  of   a  Robin. 

SAMMY    JAY.     His  blue  and  gray  coat  with  black  and  white  markings  makes 
the  Blue  Jay  one  of  the  easiest  of  all  birds  to  recognize. 


Some  Unlike  Relatives 


a  i 


Gracious!"  said  Peter.  'They  must  get  ter- 
ribly tossed  about  when  the  wind  blows.  I  should 
think  their  babies  would  be  thrown  out." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  them,"  said  a  voice. 

Peter  looked  up  to  find  Welcome  Robin  just 
over  him.  "Mrs.  Goldy  makes  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  nests  I  know  of,"  continued  Welcome 
Robin.  "It  is  like  a  deep  pocket  made  of  grass, 
string,  hair  and  bark,  all  woven  together  like  a 
piece  of  cloth.  It  is  so  deep  that  it  is  quite  safe 
for  the  babies,  and  they  seem  to  enjoy  being  rocked 
by  the  wind.  I  shouldn't  care  for  it  myself  be- 
cause I  like  a  solid  foundation  for  my  home,  but 
the  Goldies  like  it.  It  looks  dangerous  but  it 
really  is  one  of  the  safest  nests  I  know  of.  Snakes 
and  cats  never  get  'way  up  there  and  there  are  few 
feathered  nest-robbers  who  can  get  at  those  eggs 
so  deep  down  in  the  nest.  Goldy  is  sometimes 
called  Golden  Robin.  He  isn't  a  Robin  at  all, 
but  I  would  feel  very  proud  if  he  were  a  member 
of  my  family.  He's  just  as  useful  as  he  is  hand- 
some, and  that's  saying  a  great  deal.  He  just 
dotes  on  caterpillars.  There's  Mrs.  Robin  calling 
me.     Good-by,  Peter." 

With  this  Welcome  Robin  flew  away  and  Peter 
once  more  settled  himself  to  think  over  all  he  had 
learned. 

[89]' 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MORE    OF   THE    BLACKBIRD    FAMILY 


V 


-•'  Peter  Rabbit  was  dozing.  Yes,  sir,  Peter  was 
dozing.  He  didn't  mean  to  doze,  but  whenever 
Peter  sits  still  for  a  long  time  and  tries  to  think, 
he  is  pretty  sure  to  go  to  sleep.  By  and  by  he 
wakened  with  a  start.  At  first  he  didn't  know 
what  had  wakened  him,  but  as  he  sat  there  blink- 
ing his  eyes,  he  heard  a  few  rich  notes  from  the 
top  of  the  nearest  apple-tree.  "It's  Goldy  the 
Oriole,"  thought  Peter,  and  peeped  out  to  see. 
|  But  though  he  looked  and  looked  he  couldn't 
see  Goldy  anywhere,  but  he  did  see  a  stranger. 
It  was  some  one  of  about  Goldy's  size  and  shape. 
In  fact  he  was  so  like  Goldy,  but  for  the  color  of 
his  suit,  that  at  first  Peter  almost  thought  Goldy 
had  somehow  changed  his  clothes.  Of  course  he 
knew  that  this  couldn't  be,  but  it  seemed  as  if  it 
must  be,  for  the  song  the  stranger  was  singing  was 
something  like  that  of  Goldy.  The  stranger's 
head  and  throat  and  back  were  black,  just  like 
Goldy's,  and  his  wings  were  trimmed  with  white 
in  just  the  same  way.     But  the  rest  of  his  suit, 

[90]; 


More  of  the  Blackbird  Family 

instead  of  being  the  beautiful  orange  of  which 
Goldy  is  so  proud,  was  a  beautiful  chestnut 
color. 

Peter  blinked  and  stared  very  hard.  "Now 
who  can  this  be  ?"  said  he,  speaking  aloud  without 
thinking. 

"Don't  you  know  him?'"  asked  a  sharp  voice 
so  close  to  Peter  that  it  made  him  jump.  Peter 
whirled  around.  There  sat  Striped  Chipmunk 
grinning  at  him  from  the  top  of  the  old  stone  wall. 
"That's  Weaver  the  Orchard  Oriole,"  Striped 
Chipmunk  rattled  on.  "If  you  don't  know  him 
you  ought  to,  because  he  is  one  of  the  very  nicest 
persons  in  the  Old  Orchard.  I  just  love  to  hear 
him  sing." 

"Is  —  is  —  he  related  to  Goldy?"  asked  Peter 
somewhat  doubtfully. 

"Of  course,"  retorted  Striped  Chipmunk.  "I 
shouldn't  think  you  would  have  to  look  at  him 
more  than  once  to  know  that.  He's  first  cousin 
to  Goldy.  There  comes  Mrs.  Weaver.  I  do  hope 
they've  decided  to  build  in  the  Old  Orchard  this 
year." 

"I'm  glad  you  told  me  who  she  is  because  I 
never  would  have  guessed  it,"  confessed  Peter  as 
he  studied  the  newcomer.  She  did  not  look  at 
all  like  Weaver.  She  was  dressed  in  olive-green 
and  dull  yellow,  with  white  markings  on  her  wings. 

[91] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

Peter  couldn't  help  thinking  how  much  easier  it 
must  be  for  her  than  for  her  handsome  husband 
to  hide  among  the  green  leaves. 

As  he  watched  she  flew  down  to  the  ground  and 
picked  up  a  long  piece  of  grass.  "They  are  build- 
ing here,  as  sure  as  you  live!"  cried  Striped 
Chipmunk.  "I'm  glad  of  that.  Did  you  ever 
see  their  nest,  Peter?  Of  course  you  haven't, 
because  you  said  you  had  never  seen  them  before. 
Their  nest  is  a  wonder,  Peter.  It  really  is.  It  is 
made  almost  wholly  of  fine  grass  and  they  weave 
it  together  in  the  most  wonderful  way." 

"Do  they  have  a  hanging  nest  like  Goldy's?" 
asked  Peter  a  bit  timidly. 

"Not  such  a  deep  one,"  replied  Striped  Chip- 
munk. "They  hang  it  between  the  twigs  near 
the  end  of  a  branch,  but  they  bind  it  more  closely 
to  the  branch  and  it  isn't  deep  enough  to  swing  as 
Goldy's  does." 

Peter  had  just  opened  his  mouth  to  ask  another 
question  when  there  was  a  loud  sniffing  sound 
farther  up  along  the  old  stone  wall.  He  didn't 
wait  to  hear  it  again.  He  knew  that  Bowser  the 
Hound  was  coming. 

"Good-by,  Striped  Chipmunk!  This  is  no 
place  for  me,"  whispered  Peter  and  started  for 
the  dear  Old  Briar-patch.  He  was  in  such  a 
hurry  to  get  there  that  on  his  way  across  the  Green 

[92] 


More  of  the  Blackbird  Family 

Meadows  he  almost  ran  into  Jimmy  Skunk  before 
he  saw  him. 

"What's  your  hurry,  Peter?"  demanded 
Jimmy. 

"Bowser  the  Hound  almost  found  me  up  in  the 
Old  Orchard,"  panted  Peter.  "It's  a  wonder  he 
hasn't  found  my  tracks.  I  expect  he  will  any 
minute.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Jimmy,  but  I  guess 
I'd  better  be  moving  along." 

"Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,  Peter.  Don't  be 
in  such  a  hurry,"  replied  Jimmy,  who  himself 
never  hurries.  "Stop  and  talk  a  bit.  That  old 
nuisance  won't  bother  you  as  long  as  you  are 
with  me." 

Peter  hesitated.  He  wanted  to  gossip,  but  he 
still  felt  nervous  about  Bowser  the  Hound.  How- 
ever, as  he  heard  nothing  of  Bowser's  great  voice, 
telling  all  the  world  that  he  had  found  Peter's 
tracks,  he  decided  to  stop  a  few  minutes.  'What 
are  you  doing  down  here  on  the  Green  Meadows  ?" 
he  demanded. 

Jimmy  grinned.  "I'm  looking  for  grasshoppers 
and  grubs,  if  you  must  know,"  said  he.  "And 
I've  just  got  a  notion  I  may  find  some  fresh  eggs. 
I  don't  often  eat  them,  but  once  in  a  while  one 
tastes  good." 

"If  you  ask  me,  it's  a  funny  place  to  be  looking 
for  eggs  down  here  on  the  Green  Meadows,"  re- 

[93] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

plied  Peter.  "When  I  want  a  thing  I  look  for  it 
where  it  is  likely  to  be  found." 

"Just  so,  Peter;  just  so,"  retorted  Jimmy 
Skunk,  nodding  his  head  with  approval.  "That's 
why  I  am  here." 

Peter  looked  puzzled.  He  was  puzzled.  But 
before  he  could  ask  another  question  a  rollicking 
song  caused  both  of  them  to  look  up.  There  on 
quivering  wings  in  mid-air  was  the  singer.  He 
was  dressed  very  much  like  Jimmy  Skunk  him- 
self, in  black  and  white,  save  that  in  places 
the  white  had  a  tinge  of  yellow,  especially 
on  the  back  of  his  neck.  It  was  Bubbling 
Bob  the  Bobolink.  And  how  he  did  sing !  It 
seemed  as  if  the  notes  fairly  tumbled  over  each 
other. 

Jimmy  Skunk  raised  himself  on  his  hind-legs  a 
little  to  see  just  where  Bubbling  Bob  dropped  down 
in  the  grass.  Then  Jimmy  began  to  move  in  that 
direction.  Suddenly  Peter  understood.  He  re- 
membered that  Bubbling  Bob's  nest  is  always  on 
the  ground.  It  was  his  eggs  that  Jimmy  Skunk 
was  looking  for. 

"You  don't  happen  to  have  seen  Mrs.  Bob 
anywhere  around  here,  do  you,  Peter?"  asked 
Jimmy,  trying  to  speak  carelessly. 

"No,"  replied  Peter.  "If  I  had  I  wouldn't 
tell    you    where.     You    ought    to    be    ashamed, 

[94] 


BUBBLING   BOB   THE   BOBOLINK.      He  is   dressed  in   black   and   yellowish 
white. 


More  of  the  Blackbird  Family 

Jimmy  Skunk,  to  think  of  robbing  such  a  beautiful 
singer  as  Bubbling  Bob."  h 


a 


Pooh!"  retorted  Jimmy.  "What's  the 
harm  ?  If  I  find  those  eggs  he  and  Mrs.  Bob 
could  simply  build  another  nest  and  lay  some 
more.  They  won't  be  any  the  worse  off,  and  I 
will  have  had  a  good  breakfast." 

"But  think  of  all  the  work  they  would  have  to 
do  to  build  another  nest,"  replied  Peter. 

"I  should  worry,"  retorted  Jimmy  Skunk. 
"Any  one  who  can  spend  so  much  time  singing 
can  afford  to  do  a  little  extra  work." 

"You're  horrid,  Jimmy  Skunk.  You're  just 
horrid,"  said  Peter.  "I  hope  you  won't  find  a 
single  egg,  so  there  !" 

With  this,  Peter  once  more  headed  for  the  dear 
Old  Briar-patch,  while  Jimmy  Skunk  continued 
toward  the  place  where  Bubbling  Bob  had  disap- 
peared in  the  long  grass.  Peter  went  only  a  short 
distance  and  then  sat  up  to  watch  Jimmy  Skunk. 
Just  before  Jimmy  reached  the  place  where  Bub- 
bling Bob  had  disappeared,  the  latter  mounted 
into  the  air  again,  pouring  out  his  rollicking  song 
as  if  there  were  no  room  in  his  heart  for  anything 
but  happiness.  Then  he  saw  Jimmy  Skunk  and 
became  very  much  excited.  He  flew  down  in 
the  grass  a  little  farther  on  and  then  up  again* 
and  began  to  scold. 

195  1 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

It  looked  very  much  as  if  he  had  gone  down  in 
the  grass  to  warn  Mrs.  Bob.  Evidently  Jimmy 
thought  so,  for  he  at  once  headed  that  way. 
Then  Bubbling  Bob  did  the  same  thing  all  over 
again.  Peter  grew  anxious.  He  knew  just  how 
patient  Jimmy  Skunk  could  be,  and  he  very  much 
feared  that  Jimmy  would  find  that  nest.  Pres- 
ently he  grew  tired  of  watching  and  started  on 
for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch.  Just  before  he 
reached  it  a  brown  bird,  who  reminded  him  some- 
what of  Mrs.  Redwing  and  Sally  Sly  the  Cowbird, 
though  she  was  smaller,  ran  across  the  path  in 
front  of  him  and  then  flew  up  to  the  top  of  a  last 
year's  mullein  stalk.  It  was  Mrs.  Bobolink. 
Peter  knew  her  well,  for  he  and  she  were  very  good 
friends. 

"Oh!"  cried  Peter.  "What  are  you  doing 
here?  Don't  you  know  that  Jimmy  Skunk  is 
hunting  for  your  nest  over  there  ?  Aren't  you 
worried  to  death  ?  I  would  be  if  I  were  in  your 
place." 

Mrs.  Bob  chuckled.  "Isn't  he  a  dear?  And 
isn't  he  smart  ?"  said  she,  meaning  Bubbling  Bob, 
of  course,  and  not  Jimmy  Skunk.  "Just  see  him 
lead  that  black-and-white  robber  away." 

Peter  stared  at  her  for  a  full  minute.  "Do 
you  mean  to  say,"  said  he,  "that  your  nest  isn't 
over  there  at  all?" 

[96] 


More  of  the  Blackbird  Family 

Mrs.  Bob  chuckled  harder  than  ever.  "Of 
course  it  isn't  over  there,"  said  she. 

"Then  where  is  it?"  demanded  Peter. 

"That's  telling,"  replied  Mrs.  Bob.  "It  isn't 
over  there,  and  it  isn't  anywhere  near  there.  But 
where  it  is  is  Bob's  secret  and  inine,  and  we  mean 
to  keep  it.  Now  I  must  go  get  something  to  eat," 
and  with  a  hasty  farewell  Mrs.  Bobolink  flew  over 
to  the  other  side  of  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch. 

Peter  remembered  that  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Bob 
running  along  the  ground  before  she  flew  up  to 
the  old  mullein  stalk.  He  went  back  to  the  spot 
where  he  had  first  seen  her  and  hunted  all  around 
in  the  grass,  but  without  success.  You  see,  Mrs. 
Bobolink  had  been  quite  as  clever  in  fooling  Peter 
as  Bubbling  Bob  had  been  in  fooling  Jimmy 
Skunk.    / 


[97] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BOB   WHITE   AND    CAROL   THE   MEADOW   LARK 

"Bob  —  Bob  White!  Bob  —  Bob  White! 
Bob  —  Bob  White!"  clear  and  sweet,  that  call 
floated  over  to  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch  until 
Peter  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  felt  that  he 
just  had  to  go  over  and  pay  an  early  morning  call 
on  one  of  his  very  best  friends,  who  at  this  season 
of  the  year  delights  in  whistling  his  own  name  — 
Bob  White.  , 

"I  suppose,"  muttered  Peter,  "that  Bob  White 
has  got  a  nest.  I  wish  he  would  show  it  to  me. 
He's  terribly  secretive  about  it.  Last  year  I 
hunted  for  his  nest  until  my  feet  were  sore,  but  it 
wasn't  the  least  bit  of  use.  Then  one  morning 
I  met  Mrs.  Bob  White  with  fifteen  babies  out  for 
a  walk.  How  she  could  hide  a  nest  with  fifteen 
eggs  in  it  is  more  than  I  can  understand." 

Peter  left  the  Old  Briar-patch  and  started  off 
over  the  Green  Meadows  towards  the  Old  Pasture. 
As  he  drew  near  the  fence  between  the  Green 
Meadows  and  the  Old  Pasture  he  saw  Bob  White 
sitting  on  one  of  the  posts,  whistling  with  all  his 
might.     On  another  post  near  him  sat  another 

[98] 


Bob  White  and  Carol  the  Meadow  Lark 

bird  very  near  the  size  of  Welcome  Robin.  He 
also  was  telling  all  the  world  of  his  happiness. 
It  was  Carol  the  Meadow  Lark. 

Peter  was  so  intent  watching  these  two  friends 
of  his  that  he  took  no  heed  to  his  footsteps.  Sud- 
denly there  was  a  whirr  from  almost  under  his 
very  nose  and  he  stopped  short,  so  startled  that 
he  almost  squealed  right  out.  In  a  second  he 
recognized  Mrs.  Meadow  Lark.  He  watched  her 
fly  over  to  where  Carol  was  singing.  Her  stout 
little  wings  moved  swiftly  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  she  sailed  on  without  moving  them  at  all. 
Then  they  fluttered  rapidly  again  until  she  was 
flying  fast  enough  to  once  more  sail  on  them  out- 
stretched. The  white  outer  feathers  of  her  tail 
showed  clearly  and  reminded  Peter  of  the  tail  of 
Sweetvoice  the  Vesper  Sparrow,  only  of  course 
it  was  ever  so  much  bigger. 

Peter  sat  still  until  Mrs.  Meadow  Lark  had 
alighted  on  the  fence  near  Carol.  Then  he  pre- 
pared to  hurry  on,  for  he  was  anxious  for  a  bit  of 
gossip  with  these  good  friends  of  his.  But  just 
before  he  did  this  he  just  happened  to  glance  down 
and  there,  almost  at  his  very  feet,  he  caught  sight 
of  something  that  made  him  squeal  right  out. 
It  was  a  nest  with  four  of  the  prettiest  eggs  Peter 
ever  had  seen.  They  were  white  with  brown  spots 
all  over  them.     Had  it  not  been  for  the  eggs  he 

J  99  1 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

never  would  have  seen  that  nest,  never  in  the 
world.  It  was  made  of  dry,  brown  grass  and  was 
cunningly  hidden  in  a  little  clump  of  dead  grass 
which  fell  over  it  so  as  to  almost  completely  hide 
it.  But  the  thing  that  surprised  Peter  most  was 
the  clever  way  in  which  the  approach  to  it  was 
hidden.  It  was  by  means  of  a  regular  little  tunnel 
of  grass. 

"Oh!"  cried  Peter,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with 
pleasure.  "This  must  be  the  nest  of  Mrs.  Meadow 
Lark.  No  wonder  I  have  never  been  able  to  find 
it  when  I  have  looked  for  it.  It  is  just  luck  and 
nothing  else  that  I  have  found  it  this  time.  I 
think  it  is  perfectly  wonderful  that  Mrs.  Meadow 
Lark  can  hide  her  home  in  such  a  way.  I  do  hope 
Jimmy  Skunk  isn't  anywhere  around." 

Peter  sat  up  straight  and  anxiously  looked  this 
way  and  that  way.  Jimmy  Skunk  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen  and  Peter  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 
Very  carefully  he  walked  around  that  nest  and  its 
little  tunnel,  then  hurried  over  toward  the  fence 
as  fast  as  he  could  go. 

"It's  perfectly  beautiful,  Carol!"  he  cried, 
just  as  soon  as  he  was  near  enough.  "And  I  won't 
tell  a  single  soul !" 

"  I  hope  not.  I  certainly  hope  not,"  cried  Mrs. 
Meadow  Lark  in  an  anxious  tone.  "I  never 
would  have  another  single  easy  minute  if  I  thought 

[  100  ] 


CAROL  THE  MEADOW  LARK.  You  will  know  him  by  the  black  cres- 
cent on  his  yellow  breast,  and  the  white  outer  feathers  of  his  rather  short  tail 
when  he  flies. 


Bob  White  and  Carol  the  Meadow  Lark 

you  would  tell  a  living  soul  about  my  nest. 
Promise  that  you  won't,  Peter.  Cross  your  heart 
and  promise  that  you  won't." 

Peter  promptly  crossed  his  heart  and  promised 
that  he  wouldn't  tell  a  single  soul.  Mrs.  Meadow 
Lark  seemed  to  feel  better.  Right  away  she 
flew  back  and  Peter  turned  to  watch  her.  He 
saw  her  disappear  in  the  grass,  but  it  wasn't 
where  he  had  found  the  nest.  Peter  waited  a 
few  minutes,  thinking  that  he  would  see  her  rise 
into  the  air  again  and  fly  over  to  the  nest.  But 
he  waited  in  vain.  Then  with  a  puzzled  look  on 
his  face,  he  turned  to  look  up  at  Carol. 

Carol's  eyes  twinkled.  "I  know  what  you're 
thinking,  Peter,"  he  chuckled.  "You  are  think- 
ing that  it  is  funny  Mrs.  Meadow  Lark  didn't 
go  straight  back  to  our  nest  when  she  seemed  so 
anxious  about  it.  I  would  have  you  to  know  that 
she  is  too  clever  to  do  anything  so  foolish  as  that. 
She  knows  well  enough  that  somebody  might  see 
her  and  so  find  our  secret.  She  has  walked  there 
from  the  place  where  you  saw  her  disappear  in 
the  grass.  That  is  the  way  we  always  do  when 
we  go  to  our  nest.  One  never  can  be  too  careful 
these  days." 

Then  Carol  began  to  pour  out  his  happiness 
once  more,  quite  as  if  nothing  had  interrupted 
his  song. 

[  101  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children  ' 

Somehow  Peter  never  before  had  realized  how 
handsome  Carol  the  Meadow  Lark  was.  As  he 
faced  Peter,  the  latter  saw  a  beautiful  yellow 
throat  and  waistcoat,  with  a  broad  black  crescent 
on  his  breast.  There  was  a  yellow  line  above  each 
eye.  His  back  was  of  brown  with  black  mark- 
ings. His  sides  were  whitish,  with  spots  and 
streaks  of  black.  The  outer  edges  of  his  tail  were 
white.  Altogether  he  was  really  handsome,  far 
handsomer  than  one  would  suspect,  seeing  him 
at  a  distance. 

Having  found  out  Carol's  secret,  Peter  was 
doubly  anxious  to  find  Bob  White's  home,  so  he 
hurried  over  to  the  post  where  Bob  was  whistling 
with  all  his  might.  "Bob!"  cried  Peter.  "I've 
just  found  Carol's  nest  and  I've  promised  to  keep 
it  a  secret.  Won't  you  show  me  your  nest,  too, 
if  I'll  promise  to  keep  that  a  secret?" 

Bob  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  joyously. 
"You  ought  to  know,  Peter,  by  this  time,"  said 
he,  "that  there  are  secrets  never  to  be  told  to 
anybody.  My  nest  is  one  of  these.  If  you  find 
it,  all  right;  but  I  wouldn't  show  it  to  my  very 
best  friend,  and  I  guess  I  haven't  any  better  friend 
than  you,  Peter."  Then  from  sheer  happiness  he 
whistled,  "—Bob  White!  Bob  — Bob  White!" 
with  all  his  might. 

Peter  was  disappointed  and  a  little  put  out. 

[102] 


Bob  White  and  Carol  the  Meadow  Lark 

"I  guess,"  said  he,  "I  could  find  it  if  I  wanted  to. 
I  guess  it  isn't  any  better  hidden  than  Mrs.  Meadow 
Lark's,  and  I  found  that.  Some  folks  aren't  as 
smart  as  they  think  they  are." 

Bob  White,  who  is  sometimes  called  Quail  and 
sometimes  called  Partridge,  and  who  is  neither, 
chuckled  heartily.  "  Go  ahead,  old  Mr.  Curiosity, 
go  ahead  and  hunt  all  you  please,"  said  he.  "It's 
funny  to  me  how  some  folks  think  themselves 
smart  when  the  truth  is  they  simply  have  been 
lucky.  You  know  well  enough  that  you  just 
happened  to  find  Carol's  nest.  If  you  happen  to 
find  mine,  I  won't  have  a  word  to  say." 

Bob  White  took  a  long  breath,  tipped  his  head 
back  until  his  bill  was  pointing  right  up  in  the 
blue,  blue  sky,  and  with  all  his  might  whistled  his 
name,  "Bob  —  Bob  White  !   Bob  —  Bob  White  !" 

As  Peter  looked  at  him  it  came  over  him  that 
Bob  White  was  the  plumpest  bird  of  his  acquaint- 
ance. He  was  so  plump  that  his  body  seemed 
almost  round.  The  shortness  of  his  tail  added 
to  this  effect,  for  Bob  has  a  very  short  tail.  The 
upper  part  of  his  coat  was  a  handsome  reddish- 
brown  with  dark  streaks  and  light  edgings.  His 
sides  and  the  upper  part  of  his  breast  were  of  the 
same  handsome  reddish-brown,  while  underneath 
he  was  whitish  with  little  bars  of  black.  His 
throat  was  white,  and  above  each  eye  was  a  broad 

[103] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

white  stripe.  His  white  throat  was  bordered  with 
black,  and  a  band  of  black  divided  the  white  of 
the  throat  from  the  white  line  above  each  eye. 
The  top  of  his  head  was  mixed  black  and  brown. 
Altogether  he  was  a  handsome  little  fellow  in  a 
modest  way. 

Suddenly  Bob  White  stopped  whistling  and 
looked  down  at  Peter  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 
"Why  don't  you  go  hunt  for  that  nest,  Peter?" 
said  he. 

"I'm  going,"  replied  Peter  rather  shortly,  for 
he  knew  that  Bob  knew  that  he  hadn't  the  least 
idea  where  to  look.  It  might  be  somewhere  on 
the  Green  Meadows  or  it  might  be  in  the  Old 
Pasture ;  Bob  hadn't  given  the  least  hint.  Peter 
had  a  feeling  that  that  nest  wasn't  far  away  and 
that  it  was  on  the  Green  Meadows,  so  he  began 
to  hunt,  running  aimlessly  this  way  and  that  way, 
all  the  time  feeling  very  foolish,  for  of  course  he 
knew  that  Bob  White  was  watching  him  and 
chuckling  down  inside. 

It  was  very  warm  down  there  on  the  Green 
Meadows,  and  Peter  grew  hot  and  tired.  Finally 
he  decided  to  run  up  in  the  Old  Pasture  to  rest 
in  the  shade  of  an  old  bramble- tangle  there.  Just 
the  other  side  of  the  fence  was  a  path  made  by 
the  cows  and  often  used  by  Farmer  Brown's  boy 
and  Reddy  Fox  and  others  who  visited  the  Old 

[104] 


Bob  White  and  Carol  the  Meadow  Lark 

Pasture.  Along  this  Peter  scampered,  lipperty- 
lipperty-lip,  on  his  way  to  the  bramble- tangle. 
He  didn't  look  either  to  right  or  left.  It  didn't 
occur  to  him  that  there  would  be  any  use  at  all, 
for  of  course  no  one  would  build  a  nest  near  a  path 
where  people  passed  to  and  fro  every  day. 

And  so  it  was  that  in  his  happy-go-lucky  way 
Peter  scampered  right  past  a  clump  of  tall  weeds 
close  beside  the  path  without  the  least  suspicion 
that  cleverly  hidden  in  it  was  the  very  thing  he 
was  looking  for.  With  laughter  in  her  eyes,  shrewd 
little  Mrs.  Bob  White,  with  sixteen  white  eggs 
under  her,  watched  him  pass.  She  had  chosen 
that  very  place  for  her  nest  because  she  knew  that 
it  was  the  last  place  any  one  would  expect  to  find 
it.  The  very  fact  that  it  seemed  the  most  danger-" 
ous  place  she  could  have  chosen  made  it  the  safest. 


[105] 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    SWALLOW   AND    ONE   WHO   ISN'T 

Johnny  and  Polly  Chuck  had  made  their  home 
between  the  roots  of  an  old  apple-tree  in  the  far 
corner  of  the  Old  Orchard.  You  know  they  have 
their  bedroom  way  down  in  the  ground,  and  it  is 
reached  by  a  long  hall.  They  had  dug  their  home 
between  the  roots  of  that  old  apple-tree  because 
they  had  discovered  that  there  was  just  room 
enough  between  those  spreading  roots  for  them  to 
pass  in  and  out,  and  there  wasn't  room  to  dig 
the  entrance  any  larger.  So  they  felt  quite  safe 
from  Reddy  Fox  and  Bowser  the  Hound,  either 
of  whom  would  have  delighted  to  dig  them  out 
but  for  those  roots. 

Right  in  front  of  their  doorway  was  a  very  nice 
doorstep  of  shining  sand  where  Johnny  Chuck 
delighted  to  sit  when  he  had  a  full  stomach  and 
nothing  else  to  do.  Johnny's  nearest  neighbors 
had  made  their  home  only  about  five  feet  above 
Johnny's  head  when  he  sat  up  on  his  doorstep. 
They  were  Skimmer  the  Tree  Swallow  and  his 
trim  little  wife,  and  the  doorway  of  their  home 
was  a  little  round  hole  in  the  trunk  of  that  apple- 

[  106  ] 


A  Swallow  and  One  Who  Isn't 

tree,  a  hole  which  had  been  cut  some  years  before 
by  one  of  the  Woodpeckers. 

Johnny  and  Skimmer  were  the  best  of  friends. 
Johnny  used  to  delight  in  watching  Skimmer  dart 
out  from  beneath  the  branches  of  the  trees  and 
wheel  and  turn  and  glide,  now  sometimes  high  in 
the  blue,  blue  sky,  and  again  just  skimming  the 
tops  of  the  grass,  on  wings  which  seemed  never 
to  tire.  But  he  liked  still  better  the  bits  of 
gossip  when  Skimmer  would  sit  in  his  doorway 
and  chat  about  his  neighbors  of  the  Old  Orchard 
and  his  adventures  out  in  the  Great  World  during 
his  long  journeys  to  and  from  the  far-away  South. 

To  Johnny  Chuck's  way  of  thinking,  there  was 
no  one  quite  so  trim  and  neat  appearing  as  Skim- 
mer with  his  snowy  white  breast  and  blue-green 
back  and  wings.  Two  things  Johnny  always 
used  to  wonder  at,  Skimmer's  small  bill  and  short 
legs.  Finally  he  ventured  to  ask  Skimmer  about 
them. 

"Gracious,  Johnny!"  exclaimed  Skimmer.  "I 
wouldn't  have  a  big  bill  for  anything.  I  wouldn't 
know  what  to  do  with  it ;  it  would  be  in  the  way. 
You  see,  I  get  nearly  all  my  food  in  the  air  when 
I  am  flying,  mosquitoes  and  flies  and  all  sorts  of 
small  insects  with  wings.  I  don't  have  to  pick 
them  off  trees  and  bushes  or  from  the  ground  and 
so  I  don't  need  any  more  of  a  bill  than  I  have. 

[107] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

It's  the  same  way  with  my  legs.  Have  you  ever 
seen  me  walking  on  the  ground?" 

Johnny  thought  a  moment.  "No,"  said  he, 
"now  you  speak  of  it,  I  never  have." 

"And  have  you  ever  seen  me  hopping  about  in 
the  branches  of  a  tree?"    persisted  Skimmer. 

Again  Johnny  Chuck  admitted  that  he  never 
had. 

"The  only  use  I  have  for  feet,"  continued  Skim- 
mer, "is  for  perching  while  I  rest.  I  don't  need 
long  legs  for  walking  or  hopping  about,  so  Mother 
Nature  has  made  my  legs  very  short.  You  see  I 
spend  most  of  my  time  in  the  air." 

"I  suppose  it's  the  same  way  with  your  cousin, 
Sooty  the  Chimney  Swallow,"  said  Johnny. 

"That  shows  just  how  much  some  people  know  ! " 
twittered  Skimmer  indignantly.  "The  idea  of 
calling  Sooty  a  Swallow !  The  very  idea !  I'd 
have  you  to  know,  Johnny  Chuck,  that  Sooty  isn't 
even  related  to  me.  He's  a  Swift,  and  not  a 
Swallow." 

"He  looks  like  a  Swallow,"  protested  Johnny 
Chuck. 

"He  doesn't  either.  You  just  think  he  does 
because  he  happens  to  spend  most  of  his  time  in 
the  air  the  way  we  Swallows  do,"  sputtered  Skim- 
mer. "The  Swallow  family  never  would  admit 
such  a  homely  looking  fellow  as  he  is  as  a  member. 

[108]j 


A  Swalloio  and  One  Who  Isnt 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!  I  do  believe  Skimmer  is 
jealous,"  cried  Jenny  Wren,  who  had  happened 
along  just  in  time  to  hear  Skimmer's  last  remarks. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  declared  Skimmer, 
growing  still  more  indignant.  "I'd  like  to  know 
what  there  is  about  Sooty  the  Chimney  Swift 
that  could  possibly  make  a  Swallow  jealous." 

Jenny  Wren  cocked  her  tail  up  in  that  saucy 
way  of  hers  and  winked  at  Johnny  Chuck.  "The 
way  he  can  fly,"  said  she  softly. 

"The  way  he  can  fly!"  sputtered  Skimmer. 
"The  way  he  can  fly !  Why,  there  never  was  a 
day  in  his  life  that  he  could  fly  like  a  Swallow. 
There  isn't  any  one  more  graceful  on  the  wing 
than  I  am,  if  I  do  say  so.  And  there  isn't  any  one 
more  ungraceful  than  Sooty." 

Just  then  there  was  a  shrill  chatter  overhead 
and  all  looked  up  to  see  Sooty  the  Chimney  Swift 
racing  through  the  sky  as  if  having  the  very  best 
time  in  the  world.  His  wings  would  beat  furiously 
and  then  he  would  glide  very  much  as  you  or  I 
would  on  skates.  It  was  quite  true  that  he  wasn't 
graceful.  But  he  could  twist  and  turn  and  cut 
up  all  sorts  of  antics,  such  as  Skimmer  never 
dreamed  of  doing. 

"He  can  use  first  one  wing  and  then  the  other, 
while  you  have  to  use  both  wings  at  once,"  per- 
sisted Jenny  Wren.      'You  couldn't,  to  save  your 

[109] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

life,  go  straight  down  into  a  chimney,  and  you 
know  it,  Skimmer.  He  can  do  things  with  his 
wings  which  you  can't  do,  nor  any  other  bird." 

"That  may  be  true,  but  just  the  same  I'm  not 
the  least  teeny  weeny  bit  jealous  of  him,"  said 
Skimmer,  and  darted  away  to  get  beyond  the 
reach  of  Jenny's  sharp  tongue. 

"Is  it  really  true  that  he  and  Sooty  are  not 
related?"  asked  Johnny  Chuck,  as  they  watched 
Skimmer  cutting  airy  circles  high  up  in  the  sky. 

Jenny  nodded.  "It's  quite  true,  Johnny," 
said  she.  "Sooty  belongs  to  another  family  alto- 
gether. He's  a  funny  fellow.  Did  you  ever  in 
your  life  see  such  narrow  wings?  And  his  tail 
is  hardly  worth  calling  a  tail." 

Johnny  Chuck  laughed.  "'Way  up  there  in 
the  air  he  looks  almost  alike  at  both  ends,"  said 
he.     "Is  he  all  black?" 

"He  isn't  black  at  all,"  declared  Jenny.  "He 
is  sooty-brown,  rather  grayish  on  the  throat  and 
breast.  Speaking  of  that  tail  of  his,  the  feathers 
end  in  little,  sharp,  stiff  points.  He  uses  them  in 
the  same  way  that  Downy  the  Woodpecker  uses  his 
tail  feathers  when  he  braces  himself  with  them  on 
the  trunk  of  a  tree." 

"But  I've  never  seen  Sooty  on  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,"  protested  Johnny  Chuck.  "In  fact,  I've 
never  seen  him  anywhere  but  in  the  air." 

[110] 


A  Swallow  and  One  Who  IsnH 


te 


And  you  never  will,"  snapped  Jenny.  'The 
only  place  he  ever  alights  is  inside  a  chimney  or 
inside  a  hollow  tree.  There  he  clings  to  the  side 
just  as  Downy  the  Woodpecker  clings  to  the 
trunk  of  a  tree." 

Johnny  looked  as  if  he  didn't  quite  believe  this. 
"If  that's  the  case  where  does  he  nest?"  he  de- 
manded.    "And  where  does  he  sleep?" 

"In  a  chimney,  stupid.  In  a  chimney,  of 
course,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren.  "He  fastens  his 
nest  right  to  the  inside  of  a  chimney.  He  makes 
a  regular  little  basket  of  twigs  and  fastens  it  to 
the  side  of  the  chimney." 

"Are  you  trying  to  stuff  me  with  nonsense?" 
asked  Johnny  Chuck  indignantly.  "How  can 
he  fasten  his  nest  to  the  side  of  a  chimney  unless 
there's  a  little  shelf  to  put  it  on  ?  And  if  he  never 
alights,  how  does  he  get  the  little  sticks  to  make  a 
nest  of?  I'd  just  like  to  know  how  you  expect 
me  to  believe  any  such  story  as  that." 

Jenny  Wren's  sharp  little  eyes  snapped.  "If 
you  half  used  your  eyes  you  wouldn't  have  to 
ask  me  how  he  gets  those  little  sticks,"  she  sput- 
tered. "If  you  had  watched  him  when  he  was 
flying  close  to  the  tree  tops  you  would  have  seen 
him  clutch  little  dead  twigs  in  his  claws  and  snap 
them  off  without  stopping.  That's  the  way  he 
gets  his  little   sticks,   Mr.   Smarty.     He  fastens 

[HI] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

them  together  with  a  sticky  substance  he  has  in 
his  mouth,  and  he  fastens  the  nest  to  the  side  of 
the  chimney  in  the  same  way.  You  can  believe 
it  or  not,  but  it's  so." 

"I  believe  it,  Jenny,  I  believe  it,"  replied 
Johnny  Chuck  very  humbly.  "If  you  please, 
Jenny,  does  Sooty  get  all  his  food  in  the  air  too?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Jenny  tartly.  "He  eats 
nothing  but  insects,  and  he  catches  them  flying. 
Now  I  must  get  back  to  my  duties  at  home." 

"Just  tell  me  one  more  thing,"  cried  Johnny 
Chuck  hastily.  "Hasn't  Sooty  any  near  relatives 
as  most  birds  have  ?  " 

"He  hasn't  any  one  nearer  than  some  sort  of 
second  cousins,  Boomer  the  Nighthawk,  Whip- 
poorwill,  and  Hummer  the  Hummingbird." 

"What?"  cried  Johnny  Chuck,  quite  as  if  he 
couldn't  believe  he  had  heard  aright.  "Did  you 
say  Hummer  the  Hummingbird?"  But  he  got 
no  reply,  for  Jenny  Wren  was  already  beyond 
hearing. 


[112] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  ROBBER  IN  THE  OLD  ORCHARD 


a ' 


I  don't  believe  it,"  muttered  Johnny  Chuck 
out  loud.  "I  don't  believe  Jenny  Wren  knows 
what  she's  talking  about." 

"What  is  it  Jenny  Wren  has  said  that  you  don't 
believe?"  demanded  Skimmer  the  Tree  Swallow, 
as  he  once  more  settled  himself  in  his  doorway. 

"She  said  that  Hummer  the  Hummingbird  is  a 
sort  of  second  cousin  to  Sooty  the  Chimney  Swift," 
replied  Johnny  Chuck. 

"Well,  it's  so, „if  you  don't  believe  it,"  declared 
Skimmer.  "I  don't  see  that  that  is  any  harder 
to  believe  than  that  you  are  cousin  to  Striped 
Chipmunk  and  Happy  Jack  the  Gray  Squirrel. 
To  look  at  you  no  one  would  ever  think  you  are  a 
member  of  the  Squirrel  family,  but  you  must  ad- 
mit that  you  are." 

Johnny  Chuck  nodded  his  head  thoughtfully. 
"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  am,  even  if  I  don't  look  it. 
This  is  a  funny  world,  isn't  it  ?  You  can't  always 
tell  by  a  person's  looks  who  he  may  be  related  to. 
Now  that  I've  found  out  that  Sooty  isn't  related 
to  you  and  is  related  to  Hummer,  I'll  never  dare 

[113] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

guess  again  about  anybody's  relatives.  I  always 
supposed  Twitter  the  Martin  to  be  a  relative  of 
yours,  but  now  that  I've  learned  that  Sooty  isn't, 
I  suspect  that  Twitter  isn't  either." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  is,"  replied  Skimmer  promptly. 
"He's  the  largest  of  the  Swallow  family,  and  we  all 
feel  very  proud  of  him.     Everybody  loves  him." 

"Is  he  as  black  as  he  looks,  flying  round  up  in 
the  air  ? "  asked  Johnny  Chuck.  "He  never  comes 
down  here  as  you  do  where  a  fellow  can  get  a  good 
look  at  him." 

"Yes,"  replied  Skimmer,  "he  dresses  all  in 
black,  but  it  is  a  beautiful  blue-black,  and  when 
the  sun  shines  on  his  back  it  seems  to  be  almost 
purple.  That  is  why  some  folks  call  him  the 
Purple  Martin.  He  is  one  of  the  most  social 
fellows  I  know  of.  I  like  a  home  by  myself,  such 
as  I've  got  here,  but  Twitter  loves  company. 
He  likes  to  live  in  an  apartment  house  with  a  lot 
of  his  own  kind.  That  is  why  he  always  looks  for 
one  of  those  houses  with  a  lot  of  rooms  in  it,  such 
as  Farmer  Brown's  boy  has  put  up  on  the  top  of 
that  tall  pole  out  in  his  back  yard.  He  pays  for 
all  the  trouble  Farmer  Brown's  boy  took  to  put 
that  house  up.  If  there  is  anybody  who  catches 
more  flies  and  winged  insects  than  Twitter,  I 
don't  know  who  it  is." 

"How    about   me?"  demanded    a   new   voice, 

[114] 


<■•> 


; 


SKIMMER    THE    TREE  SWALLOW.      When  you  see  a  Swallow  with  pure 
white  breast  and  blue-green  back  it  is  Skimmer. 

FORKTAIL    THE    BARN    SWALLOW.      His    long    forked    tail    is  all   you 
need  to  see  to  know  him. 


A  Robber  in  the  Old  Orchard 

as  a  graceful  form  skimmed  over  Johnny  Chuck's 
head,  and  turning  like  a  flash,  came  back.  It  was 
Forktail  the  Barn  Swallow,  the  handsomest  and 
one  of  the  most  graceful  of  all  the  Swallow  family. 
He  passed  so  close  to  Johnny  that  the  latter  had 
a  splendid  chance  to  see  and  admire  his  glistening 
steel-blue  back  and  the  beautiful  chestnut-brown 
of  his  forehead  and  throat  with  its  narrow  black 
collar,  and  the  brown  to  buff  color  of  his  under 
parts.  But  the  thing  that  was  most  striking  about 
him  was  his  tail,  which  was  so  deeply  forked  as  to 
seem  almost  like  two  tails. 

"I  would  know  him  as  far  as  I  could  see  him 
just  by  his  tail  alone,"  exclaimed  Johnny.  "I 
don't  know  of  any  other  tail  at  all  like  it." 

"There  isn't  any  other  like  it,"  declared  Skim- 
mer. "If  Twitter  the  Martin  is  the  largest  of 
our  family,  Forktail  is  the  handsomest." 

"How  about  my  usefulness?'5  demanded  Fork- 
tail,  as  he  came  skimming  past  again.  "Cousin 
Twitter  certainly  does  catch  a  lot  of  flies  and  in- 
sects but  I'm  willing  to  go  against  him  any  day 
to  see  who  can  catch  the  most." 

With  this  he  darted  away.  Watching  him  they 
saw  him  alight  on  the  top  of  Farmer  Brown's  barn. 
"It's  funny,"  remarked  Johnny  Chuck,  "but  as 
long  as  I've  known  Forktail,  and  I've  known  him 
ever  since  I  was  big  enough  to  know  anybody, 

[115] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

I've  never  found  out  where  he  builds  his  nest. 
I've  seen  him  skimming  over  the  Green  Meadows 
times  without  number,  and  often  he  comes  here 
to  the  Old  Orchard  as  he  did  just  now,  but  I've 
never  seen  him  stop  anywhere  except  over  on 
that  barn." 

"That's  where  he  nests,"  chuckled  Skimmer. 

"  What  ? "  cried  Johnny  Chuck.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  he  nests  on  Farmer  Brown's  barn?" 

"No,"  replied  Skimmer.  "He  nests  in  it. 
That's  why  he  is  called  the  Barn  Swallow,  and 
why  you  never  have  seen  his  nest.  If  you'll  just 
go  over  to  Farmer  Brown's  barn  and  look  up  in 
the  roof,  you'll  see  Forktail's  nest  there  some- 
where." 

|  "Me  go  over  to  Farmer  Brown's  barn!"  ex- 
claimed Johnny  Chuck.  "Do  you  think  I'm 
crazy  r 

Skimmer  chuckled.  "Forktail  isn't  crazy,"  said 
he,  "and  he  goes  in  and  out  of  that  barn  all  day 
long.  I  must  say  I  wouldn't  care  to  build  in  such 
a  place  myself,  but  he  seems  to  like  it.  There's 
one  thing  about  it,  his  home  is  warm  and  dry  and 
comfortable,  no  matter  what  the  weather  is.  I 
wouldn't  trade  with  him,  though.  No,  sir,  I 
wouldn't  trade  with  him  for  anything.  Give  me 
a  hollow  in  a  tree  well  lined  with  feathers  to  a  nest 
made  of  mud  and  straw,  even  if  it  is  feather-lined." 

[116] 


A  Robber  in  the  Old  Orchard 

r 

"Do  you  mean  that  such  a  neat-looking,  hand- 
some fellow  as  Forktail  uses  mud  in  his  nest?" 
cried  Johnny. 

Skimmer  bobbed  his  head.  "  He  does  just  that," 
said  he.  "He's  something  like  Welcome  Robin 
in  this  respect.     I  — " 

But  Johnny  Chuck  never  knew  what  Skimmer 
was  going  to  say  next,  for  Skimmer  happened  at 
that  instant  to  glance  up.  For  an  instant  he  sat 
motionless  with  horror,  then  with  a  shriek  he 
darted  out  into  the  air.  At  the  sound  of  that 
shriek  Mrs.  Skimmer,  who  all  the  time  had  been 
sitting  on  her  eggs  inside  the  hollow  of  the  tree, 
darted  out  of  the  doorway,  also  shrieking.  For 
a  moment  Johnny  Chuck  couldn't  imagine  what 
could  be  the  trouble.  Then  a  slight  rustling  drew 
his  eyes  to  a  crotch  in  the  tree  a  little  above  the 
doorway  of  Skimmer's  home.  There,  partly  coiled 
around  a  branch,  with  head  swaying  to  and  fro, 
eyes  glittering  and  forked  tongue  darting  out  and 
in,  as  he  tried  to  look  down  into  Skimmer's  nest, 
was  Mr.  Blacksnake. 

It  seemed  to  Johnny  as  if  in  a  minute  every  bird 
in  the  Old  Orchard  had  arrived  on  the  scene. 
Such  a  shrieking  and  screaming  as  there  was ! 
First  one  and  then  another  would  dart  at  Mr. 
Blacksnake,  only  to  lose  courage  at  the  last  second 
and  turn  aside.     Poor  Skimmer  and  his  little  wife 

[117] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

were  frantic.  They  did  their  utmost  to  distract 
Mr.  Blacksnake's  attention,  darting  almost  into 
his  very  face  and  then  away  again  before  he  could 
strike.  But  Mr.  Blacksnake  knew  that  they  were 
powerless  to  hurt  him,  and  he  knew  that  there  were 
eggs  in  that  nest.  There  is  nothing  he  loves 
better  than  eggs  unless  it  is  a  meal  of  baby  birds. 
Beyond  hissing  angrily  two  or  three  times  he  paid 
no  attention  to  Skimmer  or  his  friends,  but  con- 
tinued to  creep  nearer  the  entrance  to  that  nest. 
At  last  he  reached  a  position  where  he  could 
put  his  head  in  the  doorway.  As  he  did  so, 
Skimmer  and  Mrs.  Skimmer  each  gave  a  little 
cry  of  hopelessness  and  despair.  But  no  sooner 
had  his  head  disappeared  in  the  hole  in  the  old 
apple-tree  than  Scrapper  the  Kingbird  struck  him 
savagely.  Instantly  Mr.  Blacksnake  withdrew 
his  head,  hissing  fiercely,  and  struck  savagely 
at  the  birds  nearest  him.  Several  times  the  same 
thing  happened.  No  sooner  would  his  head 
disappear  in  that  hole  than  Scrapper  or  one  of 
the  other  of  Skimmer's  friends,  braver  than  the 
rest,  would  dart  in  and  peck  at  him  viciously,  and 
all  the  time  all  the  birds  were  screaming  as  only 
excited  feathered  folk  can.  Johnny  Chuck  was 
quite  as  excited  as  his  feathered  friends,  and  so 
intent  watching  the  hated  black  robber  that  he 
had   eyes   for  nothing   else.     Suddenly   he  heard 

[118] 


A  Robber  in  the  Old  Orchard 

a  step  just  behind  him.  He  turned  his  head  and 
then  frantically  dived  head  first  down  into  his 
hole.  He  had  looked  right  up  into  the  eyes  of 
Farmer  Brown's  boy ! 

"Ha,  ha!"  cried  Farmer  Brown's  boy,  "I 
thought  as  much!"  And  with  a  long  switch  he 
struck  Mr.  Blacksnake  just  as  the  latter  had  put 
his  head  in  that  doorway,  resolved  to  get  those 
eggs  this  time.  But  when  he  felt  that  switch 
and  heard  the  voice  of  Farmer  Brown's  boy  he 
changed  his  mind  in  a  flash.  He  simply  let  go 
his  hold  on  that  tree  and  dropped.  The  instant 
he  touched  the  ground  he  was  off  like  a  shot  for 
the  safety  of  the  old  stone  wall,  Farmer  Brown's 
boy  after  him.  Farmer  Brown's  boy  didn't  in- 
tend to  kill  Mr.  Blacksnake,  but  he  did  want  to 
give  him  such  a  fright  that  he  wouldn't  visit  the 
Old  Orchard  again  in  a  hurry,  and  this  he  quite 
succeeded  in  doing. 

No  sooner  had  Mr.  Blacksnake  disappeared 
than  all  the  birds  set  up  such  a  rejoicing  that  you 
would  have  thought  they,  and  not  Farmer  Brown's 
boy,  had  saved  the  eggs  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Skimmer. 
Listening  to  them,  Johnny  Chuck  just  had  to 
smile. 


'[119] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MORE  ROBBERS 

By  the  sounds  of  rejoicing  "among  the  feathered 
folks  of  the  Old  Orchard  Johnny  Chuck  knew  that 
it  was  quite  safe  for  him  to  come  out.  He  was 
eager  to  tell  Skimmer  the  Tree  Swallow  how  glad 
he  was  that  Mr.  Blacksnake  had  been  driven 
away  before  he  could  get  Skimmer's  eggs.  As 
he  poked  his  head  out  of  his  doorway  he  became 
aware  that  something  was  still  wrong  in  the  Old 
Orchard.  Into  the  glad  chorus  there  broke  a 
note  of  distress  and  sorrow.  Johnny  instantly 
recognized  the  voices  of  Welcome  Robin  and 
Mrs.  Robin.  There  is  not  one  among  his  feathered 
neighbors  who  can  so  express  worry  and  sorrow 
as  can  the  Robins. 

Johnny  was  just  in  time  to  see  all  the  birds 
hurrying  over  to  that  part  of  the  Old  Orchard 
where  the  Robins  had  built  their  home.  The 
rejoicing  suddenly  gave  way  to  cries  of  indigna- 
tion and  anger,  and  Johnny  caught  the  words, 
"Robber!  Thief!  Wretch!"  It  appeared  that 
there  was  just  as  much  excitement  over  there  as 
there  had  been  when  Mr.  Blacksnake  had  been 

[120] 


More  Robbers 

discovered  trying  to  rob  Skimmer  and  Mrs.  Skim- 
mer. It  couldn't  be  Mr.  Blacksnake  again,  be- 
cause Farmer  Brown's  boy  had  chased  him  in 
quite  another  direction. 

"What  is  it  now?'"  asked  Johnny  of  Skimmer, 
who  was  still  excitedly  discussing  with  Mrs. 
Skimmer  their  recent  fright. 

"I  don't  know,  but  I'm  going  to  find  out," 
replied  Skimmer  and  darted  away. 

Johnny  Chuck  waited  patiently.  The  excite- 
ment among  the  birds  seemed  to  increase,  and 
the  chattering  and  angry  cries  grew  louder. 
Only  the  voices  of  Welcome  and  Mrs.  Robin  were 
not  angry.  They  were  mournful,  as  if  Welcome 
and  Mrs.  Robin  were  heartbroken.  Presently 
Skimmer  came  back  to  tell  Mrs.  Skimmer  the 
news. 

"The  Robins  have  lost  their  eggs!"  he  cried 
excitedly.  "All  four  have  been  broken  and  eaten. 
Mrs.  Robin  left  them  to  come  over  here  to  help 
drive  away  Mr.  Blacksnake,  and  while  she  was 
here  some  one  ate  those  eggs.  Nobody  knows 
who  it  could  have  been,  because  all  the  birds  of 
the  Old  Orchard  were  over  here  at  that  time.  It 
might  have  been  Chatterer  the  Red  Squirrel, 
or  it  might  have  been  Sammy  Jay,  or  it  might 
have  been  Creaker  the  Grackle,  or  it  might  have 
been  Blacky  the  Crow.     Whoever  it  was  just  took 

[121] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

that  chance  to  sneak  over  there  and  rob  that  nest 
when  there  was  no  one  to  see  him." 

Just  then  from  over  towards  the  Green  Forest 
sounded  a  mocking  "Caw,  caw,  caw!"  In- 
stantly the  noise  in  the  Old  Orchard  ceased  for  a 
moment.  Then  it  broke  out  afresh.  There  wasn't 
a  doubt  now  in  any  one's  mind.  Blacky  the  Crow 
was  the  robber.  How  those  tongues  did  go ! 
There  was  nothing  too  bad  to  say  about  Blacky. 
And  such  dreadful  things  as  those  birds  promised 
to  do  to  Blacky  the  Crow  if  ever  they  should 
catch  him  in  the  Old  Orchard. 

"Caw,  caw,  caw!"  shouted  Blacky  from  the 
distance,  and  his  voice  sounded  very  much  as  if 
he  thought  he  had  done  something  very  smart. 
It  was  quite  clear  that  at  least  he  was  not  sorry 
for  what  he  had  done. 

All  the  birds  were  so  excited  and  so  angry,  as 
they  gathered  around  Welcome  and  Mrs.  Robin 
trying  to  comfort  them,  that  it  was  some  time 
before  their  indignation  meeting  broke  up  and 
they  returned  to  their  own  homes  and  duties. 
Almost  at  once  there  was  another  cry  of  distress. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chebec  had  been  robbed  of  their 
eggs !  While  they  had  been  attending  the  in- 
dignation meeting  at  the  home  of  the  Robins,  a 
thief  had  taken  the  chance  to  steal  their  eggs  and 
get  away. 

[122]  " 


More  Robbers 

Of  course  right  away  all  the  birds  hurried  over 
to  sympathize  with  the  Chebecs  and  to  repeat 
against  the  unknown  thief  all  the  threats  they 
had  made  against  Blacky  the  Crow.  They  knew 
it  couldn't  have  been  Blacky  this  time  because  they 
had  heard  Blacky  cawing  over  on  the  edge  of  the 
Green  Forest.  In  the  midst  of  the  excited  dis- 
cussion as  to  who  the  thief  was,  Weaver  the 
Orchard  Oriole  spied  a  blue  and  white  feather  on 
the  ground  just  below  Chebec's  nest. 

"It  was  Sammy  Jay !  There  is  no  doubt  about 
it,  it  was  Sammy  Jay  !"  he  cried.     « 

At  the  sight  of  that  telltale  feather  all  the  birds 
knew  that  Weaver  was  right,  and  led  by  Scrapper 
the  Kingbird  they  began  a  noisy  search  of  the 
Old  Orchard  for  the  sly  robber.  But  Sammy 
wasn't  to  be  found,  and  they  soon  gave  up  the 
search,  none  daring  to  stay  longer  away  from  his 
own  home  lest  something  should  happen  there. 
W7elcome  and  Mrs.  Robin  continued  to  cry  mourn- 
■  fully,  but  little  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chebec  bore  their 
trouble  almost  silently. 

"There  is  one  thing  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Chebec 
to  his  sorrowful  little  wife,  "that  egg  of  Sally 
Sly's  went  with  the  rest,  and  we  won't  have  to  raise 
that  bothersome  orphan." 

"That's  true,"  said  she.  "There  is  no  use 
crying  over  what  can't  be  helped.     It  is  a  waste 

[123] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

of  time  to  sit  around  crying.  Come  on,  Chebec, 
let's  look  for  a  place  to  build  another  nest.  Next 
time  I  won't  leave  the  eggs  unwatched  for  a 
minute." 

Meanwhile  Jenny  Wren's  tongue  was  fairly 
flying  as  she  chattered  to  Peter  Rabbit,  who  had 
come  up  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  and  of 
course  had  to  know  all  about  it. 

"Blacky  the  Crow  has  a  heart  as  black  as  his 
coat,  and  his  cousin  Sammy  Jay  isn't  much  better," 
declared  Jenny.  "They  belong  to  a  family  of 
robbers." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  cried  Peter.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  Blacky  the  Crow  and  Sammy  Jay  are 
cousins?" 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Peter!"  exclaimed  Jenny, 
"do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  know  that? 
Of  course  they're  cousins.  They  don't  look  much 
alike,  but  they  belong  to  the  same  family.  I 
would  expect  almost  anything  bad  of  any  one  as 
black  as  Blacky  the  Crow.  But  how  such  a 
handsome  fellow  as  Sammy  Jay  can  do  such  dread- 
ful things  I  don't  understand.  He  isn't  as  bad 
as  Blacky,  because  he  does  do  a  lot  of  good.  He 
destroys  a  lot  of  caterpillars  and  other  pests. 

"  There  are  no  sharper  eyes  anywhere  than  those 
of  Sammy  Jay,  and  I'll  have  to  say  this  for  him, 
that  whenever  he  discovers  any  danger  he  always 

[  124  ] 


More  Robbers 

gives  us  warning.  He  has  saved  the  lives  of  a 
good  many  of  us  feathered  folks  in  this  way.  If 
it  wasn't  for  this  habit  of  stealing  our  eggs  I 
wouldn't  have  a  word  to  say  against  him,  but  at 
that,  he  isn't  as  bad  as  Blacky  the  Crow.  They 
say  Blacky  does  some  good  by  destroying  white 
grubs  and  some  other  harmful  pests  but  he's  a 
regular  cannibal,  for  he  is  just  as  fond  of  young 
birds  as  he  is  of  eggs,  and  the  harm  he  does  in 
this  way  is  more  than  the  good  he  does  in  other 
ways.  He's  bold,  black,  and  bad,  if  you  ask 
me." 

Remembering  her  household  duties,  Jenny  Wren 
disappeared  inside  her  house  in  her  usual  abrupt 
fashion.  Peter  hung  around  for  a  while  but 
finding  no  one  who  would  take  the  time  to  talk  to 
him  he  suddenly  decided  to  go  over  to  the  Green 
Forest  to  look  for  some  of  his  friends  there.  He 
had  gone  but  a  little  way  in  the  Green  Forest 
when  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  blue  form  stealing 
away  through  the  trees.  He  knew  it  in  an  in- 
stant, for  there  is  no  one  with  such  a  coat  but 
Sammy  Jay.  Peter  glanced  up  in  the  tree  from 
which  Sammy  had  flown  and  there  he  saw  a  nest 
in  a  crotch  halfway  up.  "I  wonder,"  thought 
Peter,  "if  Sammy  was  stealing  eggs  there,  or  if 
that  is  his  own  nest."  Then  he  started  after 
Sammy  as  fast  as  he  could  go,  lipperty-lipperty- 

[125] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

lip.  As  he  ran  he  happened  to  look  back  and 
was  just  in  time  to  see  Mrs.  Jay  slip  on  to  the  nest. 
Then  Peter  knew  that  he  had  discovered  Sammy's 
home.     He  chuckled  as  he  ran. 

"I've  found  out  your  secret,  Sammy  Jay!" 
cried  Peter  when  at  last  he  caught  up  with  Sammy. 

"Then  I  hope  you'll  be  gentleman  enough  to 
keep  it,"  grumbled  Sammy,  looking  not  at  all 
pleased. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Peter  with  dignity.  "I 
wouldn't  think  of  telling  any  one.  My,  what  a 
handsome  fellow  you  are,  Sammy." 

Sammy  looked  pleased.  He  is  a  little  bit  vain, 
is  Sammy  Jay.  There  is  no  denying  that  he  is 
handsome.  He  is  just  a  bit  bigger  than  Welcome 
Robin.  His  back  is  grayish-blue.  His  tail  is  a 
bright  blue  crossed  with  little  black  bars  and 
edged  with  white.  His  wings  are  blue  with  white 
and  black  bars.  His  throat  and  breast  are  a  soft 
grayish-white,  and  he  wears  a  collar  of  black. 
On  his  head  he  wears  a  pointed  cap,  a  very  con- 
venient cap,  for  at  times  he  draws  it  down  so  that 
it  is  not  pointed  at  all. 

"Why  did  you  steal  Mrs.  Chebec's  eggs?" 
demanded  Peter  abruptly. 

Sammy  didn't  look  the  least  bit  put  out.  "Be- 
cause I  like  eggs,"  he  replied  promptly.  "If 
people  will  leave  their  eggs  unguarded  they  must 

[  126  ] 


More  Robbers 

expect  to  lose  them.  How  did  you  know  I  took 
those  eggs?"  3 

"Never  mind,  Sammy;  never  mind.  A  little 
bird  told  me,"  retorted  Peter  mischievously. 

Sammy  opened  his  mouth  for  a  sharp  reply,  but 
instead  he  uttered  a  cry  of  warning.  "Run, 
Peter  !  Run  !     Here  comes  Reddy  Fox  !"  he  cried. 

Peter  dived  headlong  under  a  great  pile  of  brush. 
There  he  was  quite  safe.  While  he  waited  for 
Reddy  Fox  to  go  away  he  thought  about  Sammy 
Jay.  "It's  funny,"  he  mused,  "how  so  much 
good  and  so  much  bad  can  be  mixed  together. 
Sammy  Jay  stole  Chebec's  eggs,  and  then  he  saved 
my  life.  I  just  know  he  would  have  done  as 
much  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chebec,  or  for  any  other 
feathered  neighbor.  He  can  only  steal  eggs  for  a 
little  while  in  the  spring.  I  guess  on  the  whole 
he  "does  more  good  than  harm.  I'm  going  to 
think  so  anyway." 

Peter  was  quite  right.  Sammy  Jay  does  do 
more  good  than  harm. 


[127] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SOME   HOMES   IN    THE    GREEN   FOREST 


Reddy  Fox  wasted  very  little  time  waiting  for 
Peter  Rabbit  to  come  out  from  under  that  pile 
of  brush  where  he  had  hidden  at  Sammy  Jay's 
warning.  After  making  some  terrible  threats 
just  to  try  to  frighten  Peter,  he  trotted  away  to 
look  for  some  Mice.  Peter  didn't  mind  those 
threats  at  all.  He  was  used  to  them.  He  knew 
that  he  was  safe  where  he  was,  and  all  he  had  to 
do  was  to  stay  there  until  Reddy  should  be  so 
far  away  that  it  would  be  safe  to  come  out. 

Just  to  pass  away  the  time  Peter  took  a  little 
nap.  When  he  awoke  he  sat  for  a  few  minutes 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  where  to  go  and  what 
to  do  next.  From  'way  over  in  the  direction  of 
the  Old  Pasture  the  voice  of  Blacky  the  Crow 
reached  him.  Peter  pricked  up  his  ears,  then 
chuckled. 

"Reddy  Fox  has  gone  back  to  the  Old  Pasture 
and  Blacky  has  discovered  him  there,"  he  thought 
happily.  You  see,  he  understood  what  Blacky 
was  saying.  To  you  or  me  Blacky  would  have 
been  saying  simply,  "Caw!     Caw!"     But  to  all 

[  128  ] 


Some  Homes  in  the  Green  Forest 

the  little  people  of  the  Green  Forest  and  Green 
Meadows  within  hearing  he  was  shouting,  "Fox! 
Fox!" 

"I  wonder,"  thought  Peter,  "where  Blacky  is 
nesting  this  year.  Last  year  his  nest  was  in  a 
tall  pine-tree  not  far  from  the  edge  of  the  Green 
Forest.  I  believe  I'll  run  over  there  and  see  if 
he  has  a  new  nest  near  the  old  one." 

So  Peter  scampered  over  to  the  tall  pine  in 
which  was  Blacky's  old  nest.  As  he  sat  with  his 
head  tipped  back,  staring  up  at  it,  it  struck  him 
that  that  nest  didn't  look  so  old,  after  all.  In 
fact,  it  looked  as  if  it  had  recently  been  fixed  up 
quite  like  new.  He  was  wondering  about  this 
and  trying  to  guess  what  it  meant,  when  Blacky 
himself  alighted  close  to  the  edge  of  it. 

There  was  something  in  his  bill,  though  what  it 
was  Peter  couldn't  see.  Almost  at  once  a  black 
head  appeared  above  the  edge  of  the  nest  and  a 
black  bill  seized  the  thing  which  Blacky  had 
brought.  Then  the  head  disappeared  and  Blacky 
silently  flew  away. 

"As  sure  as  I  live,"  thought  Peter,  "that  was 
Mrs.  Blacky,  and  Blacky  brought  her  some  food 
so  that  she  would  not  have  to  leave  those  eggs 
she  must  have  up  there.  He  may  be  the  black- 
hearted robber  every  one  says  he  is,  but  he  cer- 
tainly is  a  good  husband.     He's  a  better  husband 

[129] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

than  some  others  I  know,  of  whom  nothing  but 
good  is  said.  It  just  goes  to  show  that  there  is 
some  good  in  the  very  worst  folks.  Blacky  is  a 
sly  old  rascal.  Usually  he  is  as  noisy  as  any  one 
I  know,  but  he  came  and  went  without  making 
a  sound.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  haven't  once  heard 
his  voice  near  here  this  spring.  I  guess  if  Farmer 
Brown's  boy  could  find  this  nest  he  would  get  even 
with  Blacky  for  pulling  up  his  corn.  I  know  a  lot 
of  clever  people,  but  no  one  quite  so  clever  as 
Blacky  the  Crow.  With  all  his  badness  I  can't 
help  liking  him." 

Twice,  while  Peter  watched,  Blacky  returned 
with  food  for  Mrs.  Blacky.  Then,  tired  of  keep- 
ing still  so  long,  Peter  decided  to  run  over  to  a 
certain  place  farther  in  the  Green  Forest  which 
was  seldom  visited  by  any  one.  It  was  a  place 
Peter  usually  kept  away  from.  It  was  pure 
curiosity  which  led  him  to  go  there  now.  The 
discovery  that  Blacky  the  Crow  was  using  his 
old  nest  had  reminded  Peter  that  Redtail  the 
Hawk  uses  his  old  nest  year  after  year,  and  he 
wanted  to  find  out  if  Redtail  had  come  back  to  it 
this  year. 

Halfway  over  to  that  lonesome  place  in  the 
Green  Forest  a  trim  little  bird  flew  up  from  the 
ground,  hopped  from  branch  to  branch  of  a  tree, 
walked  along  a  limb,  then  from  pure  happiness 

[130] 


Some  Homes  in  the  Green  Forest 

threw  back  his  head  and  cried,  "Teacher,  teacher, 
teacher,  teacher,  teacher  !"  each  time  a  little  louder 
than  before.     It  was  Teacher  the  Oven  Bird. 

In  his  delight  at  seeing  this  old  friend,  Peter 
quite  forgot  Redtail  the  Hawk.  "Oh,  Teacher!" 
cried  Peter.     "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  again !" 

Teacher  stopped  singing  and  looked  down  at 
Peter.  "If  you  are  so  glad  why  haven't  you  been 
over  to  see  me  before?"  he  demanded.  "I've 
been  here  for  some  time." 

Peter  looked  a  little  foolish.  "The  truth  is, 
Teacher,"  said  he  very  humbly,  "I  have  been 
visiting  the  Old  Orchard  so  much  and  learning  so 
many  things  that  this  is  the  first  chance  I  have 
had  to  come  'way  over  here  in  the  Green  Forest. 
You  see,  I  have  been  learning  a  lot  of  things  about 
you  feathered  folks,  things  I  hadn't  even  guessed. 
There  is  something  I  wish  you'd  tell  me,  Teacher ; 
will  you?" 

"That  depends  on  what  it  is,"  replied  Teacher, 
eyeing  Peter  a  little  suspiciously. 

"It  is  why  you  are  called  Oven  Bird,"  said 
Peter. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Teacher.  Then  without 
waiting  for  a  reply  he  added,  "It  is  because  of 
the  way  Mrs.  Teacher  and  I  build  our  nest. 
Some  people  think  it  is  like  an  oven  and  so  they 
call  us  Oven  Birds.     I  think  that  is  a  silly  name 

[131] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Boole  for  Children 

myself,  quite  as  silly  as  Golden  Crowned  Thrush, 
which  is  what  some  people  call  me.  I'm  not  a 
Thrush.  I'm  not  even  related  to  the  Thrush 
family.     I'm  a  Warbler,  a  Wood  Warbler." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Peter,  looking  at  Teacher 
thoughtfully,  "they've  given  you  that  name  be- 
cause you  are  dressed  something  like  the  Thrushes. 
That  olive-green  coat,  and  white  waistcoat  all 
streaked  and  spotted  with  black,  certainly  does 
remind  me  of  the  Thrush  family.  If  you  were 
not  so  much  smaller  than  any  of  the  Thrushes 
I  should  almost  think  you  were  one  myself.  Why, 
you  are  not  very  much  bigger  than  Chippy  the 
Chipping  Sparrow,  only  you've  got  longer  legs.  I 
suppose  that's  because  you  spend  so  much  time 
on  the  ground.  I  think  that  just  Teacher  is  the 
best  name  for  you.  No  one  who  has  once  heard 
you  could  ever  mistake  you  for  any  one  else. 
By  the  way,  Teacher,  where  did  you  say  your 
nest  is  ?  "  ■  '  a 

"I  didn't  say,"  retorted  Teacher.  "What's 
more,  I'm  not  going  to  say." 

"Won't  you  at  least  tell  me  if  it  is  in  a  tree?" 
begged  Peter. 

Teacher's  eyes  twinkled.  "I  guess  it  won't 
do  any  harm  to  tell  you  that  much,"  said  he. 
"No,  it  isn't  in  a  tree.  It  is  on  the  ground  and, 
if  I  do  say  it,  it  is  as  well  hidden  a  nest  as  anybody 

[132] 


Some  Homes  in  the  Green  Forest 

can  build.  Oh,  Peter,  watch  your  step !  Watch 
your  step  !"     Teacher  fairly  shrieked  this  warning. 

Peter,  who  had  just  started  to  hop  off  to  his 
right,  stopped  short  in  sheer  astonishment.  Just 
in  front  of  him  was  a  tiny  mound  of  dead  leaves, 
and  a  few  feet  beyond  Mrs.  Teacher  was  flutter- 
ing about  on  the  ground  as  if  badly  hurt.  Peter 
simply  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  Once 
more  he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  hop.  Teacher 
flew  right  down  in  front  of  him.  "You'll  step 
on  my  nest !"  he  cried. 

Peter  stared,  for  he  didn't  see  any  nest.  He 
said  as  much. 

"It's  under  that  little  mound  of  leaves  right  in 
front  of  your  feet!"  cried  Teacher.  "I  wasn't 
going  to  tell  you,  but  I  just  had  to  or  you  cer- 
tainly would  have  stepped  on  it." 

Very  carefully  Peter  walked  around  the  little 
bunch  of  leaves  and  peered  under  them  from 
the  other  side.  There,  sure  enough,  was  a  nest 
beneath  them,  and  in  it  four  speckled  eggs.  "I 
won't  tell  a  soul,  Teacher.  I  promise  you  I  won't 
tell  a  soul,"  declared  Peter  very  earnestly.  "I 
understand  now  why  you  are  called  Oven  Bird, 
but  I  still  like  the  name  Teacher  best." 

Feeling  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Teacher  would  feel 
easier  in  their  minds  if  he  left  them,  Peter  said 
good-by  and  started  on  for  the  lonesome  place  in 

[133] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

the  Green  Forest  where  he  knew  the  old  nest  of 
Redtail  the  Hawk  had  been.  As  he  drew  near 
the  place  he  kept  sharp  watch  through  the  tree- 
tops  for  a  glimpse  of  Redtail.  Presently  he  saw 
him  high  in  the  blue  sky,  sailing  lazily  in  big 
circles.  Then  Peter  became  very,  very  cautious. 
He  tiptoed  forward,  keeping  under  cover  as  much 
as  possible.  At  last,  peeping  out  from  beneath 
a  little  hemlock-tree,  he  could  see  Redtail's  old 
nest.  He  saw  right  away  that  it  was  bigger  than 
it  had  been  when  he  saw  it  last.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  chorus  of  hungry  cries  and  Peter  saw  Mrs. 
Redtail  approaching  with  a  Mouse  in  her  claws. 
From  where  he  sat  he  could  see  four  funny  heads 
stretched  above  the  edge  of  the  nest. 

"  Redtail  is  using  his  old  nest  again  and  has  got 
a  family  already,"  exclaimed  Peter.  "I  guess 
this  is  no  place  for  me.  The  sooner  I  get  away 
from  here  the  better." 

Just  then  Redtail  himself  dropped  down  out  of 
the  blue,  blue  sky  and  alighted  on  a  tree  close  at 
hand.  Peter  decided  that  the  best  thing  he  could 
do  was  to  sit  perfectly  still  where  he  was.  He 
had  a  splendid  view  of  Redtail,  and  he  couldn't 
help  but  admire  this  big  member  of  the  Hawk 
family.  The  upper  parts  of  his  coat  were  a  dark 
grayish-brown  mixed  with  touches  of  chestnut 
color.     The  upper  part  of  his  breast  was  streaked 

[134] 


REDTAIL    THE    HAWK.      This    is    one    of    our    largest   hawks    ana   may   be 
recognized  by  the  chestnut   red   of   his  tail. 


Some  Homes  in  the  Green  Forest 

with  grayish-brown  and  buff,  the  lower  part  having 
but  few  streaks.  Below  this  were  black  spots 
and  bars  ending  in  white.  But  it  was  the  tail 
which  Peter  noticed  most  of  all.  It  was  a  rich 
reddish-brown  with  a  narrow  black  band  near 
its  end  and  a  white  tip.  Peter  understood  at 
once  why  this  big  Hawk  is  called  Redtail. 

It  was  not  until  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Redtail  had  gone 
in  quest  of  more  food  for  their  hungry  youngsters 
that  Peter  dared  steal  away.  As  soon  as  he  felt 
it  safe  to  do  so,  he  headed  for  home  as  fast  as  he 
could  go,  lipperty-lipperty-lip.  He  knew  that  he 
wouldn't  feel  safe  until  that  lonesome  place  in 
the  Green  Forest  was  far  behind. 

Yet  if  the  truth  be  known,  Peter  had  less  cause 
to  worry  than  would  have  been  the  case  had  it 
been  some  other  member  of  the  Hawk  family 
instead  of  Redtail.  And  while  Redtail  and  his 
wife  do  sometimes  catch  some  of  their  feathered 
and  furred  neighbors,  and  once  in  a  while  a 
chicken,  they  do  vastly  more  good  than  harm. 


[135] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A   MAKER   OF    THUNDER   AND    A    FRIEND    IN   BLACK 

Peter  Rabbit's  intentions  were  of  the  best. 
Once  safely  away  from  that  lonesome  part  of  the 
Green  Forest  where  was  the  home  of  Redtail 
the  Hawk,  he  intended  to  go  straight  back  to  the 
dear  Old  Briar-patch.  But  he  was  not  halfway 
there  when  from  another  direction  in  the  Green 
Forest  there  came  a  sound  that  caused  him  to 
stop  short  and  quite  forget  all  about  home.  It 
was  a  sound  very  like  distant  thunder.  It  began 
slowly  at  first  and  then  went  faster  and  faster. 
Boom  —  Boom  —  Boom  —  Boom-Boom-Boom  — • 
Boo-Boo-B-B-B-B-b-b-b-b-boom  !  It  was  like  the 
long  roll  on  a  bass  drum. 

Peter  laughed  right  out.  "That's  Strutter  the 
Ruffed  Grouse!"  he  cried  joyously.  "I  had  for- 
gotten all  about  him.  I  certainly  must  go  over 
and  pay  him  a  call  and  find  out  where  Mrs.  Grouse 
is.     My,  how  Strutter  can  drum!" 

Peter  promptly  headed  towards  that  distant 
thunder.  As  he  drew  nearer  to  it,  it  sounded 
louder  and  louder.  Presently  Peter  stopped  to 
try  to  locate  exactly  the  place  where  that  sound, 

[136] 


A  Maker  of  Thunder  and  A  Friend  in  Black 

which  now  was  more  than  ever  like  thunder,  was 
coming  from.  Suddenly  Peter  remembered  some- 
thing. "I  know  just  where  he  is,"  said  he  to 
himself.  "There's  a  big,  mossy,  hollow  log  over 
yonder,  and  I  remember  that  Mrs.  Grouse  once 
told  me  that  that  is  Strutter's  thunder  log." 

Very,  very  carefully  Peter  stole  forward,  making 
no  sound  at  all.  At  last  he  reached  a  place  where 
he  could  peep  out  and  see  that  big,  mossy,  hollow 
log.  Sure  enough,  there  was  Strutter  the  Ruffed 
Grouse.  When  Peter  first  saw  him  he  was 
crouched  on  one  end  of  the  log,  a  fluffy  ball  of 
reddish-brown,  black  and  gray  feathers.  He  was 
resting.  Suddenly  he  straightened  up  to  his  full 
height,  raised  his  tail  and  spread  it  until  it  was  like 
an  open  fan  above  his  back.  The  outer  edge  was 
gray,  then  came  a  broad  band  of  black,  followed 
by  bands  of  gray,  brown  and  black.  Around  his 
neck  was  a  wonderful  ruff  of  black.  His  reddish- 
brown  wings  were  dropped  until  the  tips  nearly 
touched  the  log.  His  full  breast  rounded  out  and 
was  buff  color  with  black  markings.  He  was  of 
about  the  size  of  the  little  Bantam  hens  Peter 
had  seen  in  Farmer  Brown's  henyard. 

In  the  most  stately  way  you  can  imagine  Strut- 
ter walked  the  length  of  that  mossy  log.  He  was 
a  perfect  picture  of  pride  as  he  strutted  very 
much  like  Tom   Gobbler  the   big  Turkey  cock. 

[137] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

When  he  reached  the  end  of  the  log  he  suddenly 
dropped  his  tail,  stretched  himself  to  his  full 
height  and  his  wings  began  to  beat,  first  slowly- 
then  faster  and  faster,  until  they  were  just  a  blur. 
They  seemed  to  touch  above  his  back  but  when 
they  came  down  they  didn't  quite  strike  his  sides. 
It  was  those  fast  moving  wings  that  made  the 
thunder.  It  was  so  loud  that  Peter  almost  wanted 
to  stop  his  ears.  When  it  ended  Strutter  settled 
down  to  rest  and  once  more  appeared  like  a  ball 
of  fluffy  feathers.     His  ruff  was  laid  flat. 

Peter  watched  him  thunder  several  times  and 
then  ventured  to  show  himself.  "Strutter,  you 
are  wonderful!  simply  wonderful!"  cried  Peter, 
and  he  meant  just  what  he  said. 

Strutter  threw  out  his  chest  proudly.  "That 
is  just  what  Mrs.  Grouse  says,"  he  replied.  "I 
don't  know  of  any  better  thunderer  if  I  do  say 
it  myself." 

"Speaking  of  Mrs.  Grouse,  where  is  she?" 
asked  Peter  eagerly. 

"Attending  to  her  household  affairs,  as  a 
good  housewife  should,"  retorted  Strutter 
promptly. 

"Do  you  mean  she  has  a  nest  and  eggs?" 
asked  Peter. 

Strutter  nodded.  "She  has  twelve  eggs,"  he 
added  proudly. 

[  138  ] 


A  Maker  of  Thunder  and  A  Friend  in  Black 

"I  suppose,"  said  Peter  artfully,  "her  nest  is 
somewhere  near  here  on  the  ground." 

"It's  on  the  ground,  Peter,  but  as  to  where  it 
is  I  am  not  saying  a  word.  It  may  or  it  may  not 
be  near  here.  Do  you  want  to  hear  me  thunder 
again  ? 

Of  course  Peter  said  he  did,  and  that  was 
sufficient  excuse  for  Strutter  to  show  off.  Peter 
stayed  a  while  longer  to  gossip,  but  finding  Strut- 
ter more  interested  in  thundering  than  in  talking, 
he  once  more  started  for  home. 

"I  really  would  like  to  know  where  that  nest 
is,"  said  he  to  himself  as  he  scampered  along. 
"I  suppose  Mrs.  Grouse  has  hidden  it  so  cleverly 
that  it  is  quite  useless  to  look  for  it." 

On  his  way  he  passed  a  certain  big  tree.  All 
around  the  ground  was  carpeted  with  brown, 
dead  leaves.  There  were  no  bushes  or  young 
trees  there.  Peter  never  once  thought  of  looking 
for  a  nest.  It  was  the  last  place  in  the  world  he 
would  expect  to  find  one.  When  he  was  well 
past  the  big  tree  there  was  a  soft  chuckle  and 
from  among  the  brown  leaves  right  at  the  foot  of 
that  big  tree  a  head  with  a  pair  of  the  brightest 
eyes  was  raised  a  little.  Those  eyes  twinkled  as 
they  watched  Peter  out  of  sight. 

"He  didn't  see  me  at  all,"  chuckled  Mrs. 
Grouse,  as  she  settled  down  once  more.     "That 

[  139  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

is  what  comes  of  having  a  cloak  so  like  the  color 
of  these  nice  brown  leaves.  He  isn't  the  first 
one  who  has  passed  me  without  seeing  me  at  all. 
It  is  better  than  trying  to  hide  a  nest,  and  I 
certainly  am  thankful  to  Old  Mother  Nature  for 
the  cloak  she  gave  me.  I  wonder  if  every  one  of 
these  twelve  eggs  will  hatch.  If  they  do,  I  cer- 
tainly will  have  a  family  to  be  proud  of." 

Meanwhile  Peter  hurried  on  in  his  usual  happy- 
go-lucky  fashion  until  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
Green  Forest.  Out  on  the  Green  Meadows  just 
beyond  he  caught  sight  of  a  black  form  walking 
about  in  a  stately  way  and  now  and  then  picking 
up  something.  It  reminded  him  of  Blacky  the 
Crow,  but  he  knew  right  away  that  it  wasn't 
Blacky,  because  it  was  so  much  smaller,  being  not 
more  than  half  as  big. 

"It's  Creaker  the  Grackle.  He  was  one  of  the 
first  to  arrive  this  spring  and  I'm  ashamed  of 
myself  for  not  having  called  on  him,"  thought 
Peter,  as  he  hopped  out  and  started  across  the 
Green  Meadows  towards  Creaker.  "What  a  splen- 
did long  tail  he  has.  I  believe  Jenny  Wren  told 
me  that  he  belongs  to  the  Blackbird  family.  He 
looks  so  much  like  Blacky  the  Crow  that  I  sup- 
pose this  is  why  they  call  him  Crow  Blackbird." 

Just  then  Creaker  turned  in  such  a  way  that 
the  sun  fell  full  on  his  head  and  back.     "Why! 

[140] 


* 


f 


>f 


STRUTTER    THE    RUFFED    GROUSE.      The   black    ruff   around    his    neck 
gives  him   his  name. 


A  Maker  of  Thunder  and  A  Friend  in  Black 

Why-eee!"  exclaimed  Peter,  rubbing  his  eyes 
with  astonishment.  "He  isn't  just  black!  He's 
beautiful,  simply  beautiful,  and  I've  always  sup- 
posed he  was  just  plain,  homely  black." 

It  was  true.  Creaker  the  Grackle  with  the  sun 
shining  on  him  was  truly  beautiful.  His  head 
and  neck,  his  throat  and  upper  breast,  were  a 
shining  blue-black,  while  his  back  was  a  rich, 
shining  brassy-green.  His  wings  and  tail  were 
much  like  his  head  and  neck.  As  Peter  watched 
it  seemed  as  if  the  colors  were  constantly  changing. 
This  changing  of  colors  is  called  iridescence.  One 
other  thing  Peter  noticed  and  this  was  that 
Creaker's  eyes  were  yellow.  Just  at  the  moment 
Peter  couldn't  remember  any  other  bird  with 
yellow  eyes. 

"Creaker,"  cried  Peter,  "I  wonder  if  you  know 
how  handsome  you  are  !" 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so,"  replied  Creaker. 
"I'm  not  at  all  vain,  but  there  are  mighty  few 
birds  I  would  change  coats  with." 

"Is  — is  —  Mrs.  Creaker  dressed  as  handsomely 
as  you  are  ?"  asked  Peter  rather  timidly. 

Creaker  shook  his  head.  "Not  quite,"  said  he. 
"She  likes  plain  black  better.  Some  of  the 
feathers  on  her  back  shine  like  mine,  but  she  says 
that  she  has  no  time  to  show  off  in  the  sun  and  to 
take  care  of  fine  feathers." 

[  141  j 


I  The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

"Where  is  she  now?"  asked  Peter. 

"Over  home,"  replied  Creaker,  pulling  a  white 
grub  out  of  the  roots  of  the  grass.  "We've  got 
a  nest  over  there  in  one  of  those  pine-trees  on  the 
edge  of  the  Green  Forest  and  I  expect  any  day 
now  we  will  have  four  hungry  babies  to  feed.  I 
shall  have  to  get  busy  then.  You  know  I  am  one 
of  those  who  believe  that  every  father  should  do 
his  full  share  in  taking  care  of  his  family." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  it,"  declared  Peter, 
nodding  his  head  with  approval  quite  as  if  he  was 
himself  the  best  of  fathers,  which  he  isn't  at  all. 
"May  I  ask  you  a  very  personal  question, 
Creaker?" 

"Ask  as  many  questions  as  you  like.  I  don't 
have  to  answer  them  unless  I  want  to,"  retorted 
Creaker. 

"Is  it  true  that  you  steal  the  eggs  of  other 
birds?"  Peter  blurted  the  question  out  rather 
hurriedly. 

Creaker's  yellow  eyes  began  to  twinkle.  "That 
is  a  very  personal  question,"  said  he.  "I  won't 
go  so  far  as  to  say  I  steal  eggs,  but  I've  found  that 
eggs  are  very  good  for  my  constitution  and  if  I 
find  a  nest  with  nobody  around  I  sometimes  help 
myself  to  the  eggs.  You  see  the  owner  might  not 
come  back  and  then  those  eggs  would  spoil,  and 
that  would  be  a  pity." 

[142] 


A  Maker  of  Thunder  and  A  Friend  in  Black 

"That's  no  excuse  at  all,"  declared  Peter.  "I 
believe  you're  no  better  than  Sammy  Jay  and 
Blacky  the  Crow." 

Creaker  chuckled,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be 
at  all  offended.  Just  then  he  heard  Mrs.  Creaker 
calling  him  and  with  a  hasty  farewell  he  spread 
his  wings  and  headed  for  the  Green  Forest.  Once 
in  the  air  he  seemed  just  plain  black.  Peter 
watched  him  out  of  sight  and  then  once  more 
headed  for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch. 


[143] 


CHAPTER  XX 

A    FISHERMAN   ROBBED 

Just  out  of  curiosity,  and  because  he  possesses 
what  is  called  the  wandering  foot,  which  means 
that  he  delights  to  roam  about,  Peter  Rabbit  had 
run  over  to  the  bank  of  the  Big  River.  There 
were  plenty  of  bushes,  clumps  of  tall  grass,  weeds 
and  tangles  of  vines  along  the  bank  of  the  Big 
River,  so  that  Peter  felt  quite  safe  there.  He 
liked  to  sit  gazing  out  over  the  water  and  wonder 
where  it  all  came  from  and  where  it  was  going 
and  what  kept  it  moving. 

He  was  doing  this  very  thing  on  this  particular 
morning  when  he  happened  to  glance  up  in  the 
blue,  blue  sky.  There  he  saw  a  broad-winged 
bird  sailing  in  wide,  graceful  circles.  Instantly 
Peter  crouched  a  little  lower  in  his  hiding-place, 
for  he  knew  this  for  a  member  of  the  Hawk  family 
and  Peter  has  learned  by  experience  that  the  only 
way  to  keep  perfectly  safe  when  one  of  these  hook- 
clawed,  hook-billed  birds  is  about  is  to  keep  out 
of  sight. 

So  now  he  crouched  very  close  to  the  ground 
and  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  big  bird  sailing  so 

[144] 


A  Fisherman  Robbed 

gracefully  high  up  in  the  blue,  blue  sky  over  the 
Big  River.  Suddenly  the  stranger  paused  in  his 
flight  and  for  a  moment  appeared  to  remain  in 
one  place,  his  great  wings  beating  rapidly  to  hold 
him  there.  Then  those  wings  were  closed  and 
with  a  rush  he  shot  down  straight  for  the  water, 
disappearing  with  a  great  splash.  Instantly  Peter 
sat  up  to  his  full  height  that  he  might  see  better. 

"It's  Plunger  the  Osprey  fishing,  and  I've 
nothing  to  fear  from  him,"  he  cried  happily. 

Out  of  the  water,  his  great  wings  flapping,  rose 
Plunger.  Peter  looked  eagerly  to  see  if  he  had 
caught  a  fish,  but  there  was  nothing  in  Plunger's 
great,  curved  claws.  Either  that  fish  had  been 
too  deep  or  had  seen  Plunger  and  darted  away 
just  in  the  nick  of  time.  Peter  had  a  splendid 
view  of  Plunger.  He  was  just  a  little  bigger  than 
Redtail  the  Hawk.  Above  he  was  dark  brown, 
his  head  and  neck  marked  with  white.  His  tail 
was  grayish,  crossed  by  several  narrow  dark  bands 
and  tipped  with  white.  His  under  parts  were 
white  with  some  light  brown  spots  on  his  breast. 
Peter  could  see  clearly  the  great,  curved  claws 
which  are  Plunger's  fishhooks. 

Up,  up,  up  he  rose,  going  round  and  round  in  a 
spiral.  When  he  was  well  up  in  the  blue,  blue 
sky,  he  began  to  sail  again  in  wide  circles  as 
when  Peter  had  first  seen  him.     It  wasn't  long 

[145] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

before  he  again  paused  and  then  shot  down  towards 
the  water.  This  time  he  abruptly  spread  his 
great  wings  just  before  reaching  the  water  so  that 
he  no  more  than  wet  his  feet.  Once  more  a  fish 
had  escaped  him.  But  Plunger  seemed  not  in 
the  least  discouraged.  He  is  a  true  fisherman 
and  every  true  fisherman  possesses  patience. 
Up  again  he  spiraled  until  he  was  so  high  that 
Peter  wondered  how  he  could  possibly  see  a  fish 
so  far  below.  You  see,  Peter  didn't  know  that 
it  is  easier  to  see  down  into  the  water  from  high 
above  it  than  from  close  to  it.  Then,  too,  there 
are  no  more  wonderful  eyes  than  those  possessed 
by  the  members  of  the  Hawk  family.  And 
Plunger  the  Osprey  is  a  Hawk,  usually  called 
Fish  Hawk. 

A  third  time  Plunger  shot  down  and  this  time, 
as  in  his  first  attempt,  he  struck  the  water  with  a 
great  splash  and  disappeared.  In  an  instant  he 
reappeared,  shaking  the  water  from  him  in  a 
silver  spray  and  flapping  heavily.  This  time 
Peter  could  see  a  great  shining  fish  in  his  claws. 
It  was  heavy,  as  Peter  could  tell  by  the  way  in 
which  Plunger  flew.  He  headed  towards  a  tall 
tree  on  the  other  bank  of  the  Big  River,  there 
to  enjoy  his  breakfast.  He  was  not  more  than 
halfway  there  when  Peter  was  startled  by  a 
harsh  scream.    : 

[148] 


A  Fisherman  Robbed 

He  looked  up  to  see  a  great  bird,  with  wonderful 
broad  wings,  swinging  in  short  circles  about 
Plunger.  His  body  and  wings  were  dark  brown, 
and  his  head  was  snowy  white,  as  was  his  tail.  His 
great  hooked  beak  was  yellow  and  his  legs  were 
yellow.  Peter  knew  in  an  instant  who  it  was. 
There  could  be  no  mistake.  It  was  King  Eagle, 
commonly  known  as  Bald  Head,  though  his 
head  isn't  bald  at  all. 

Peter's  eyes  looked  as  if  they  would  pop  out 
of  his  head,  for  it  was  quite  plain  to  him  that 
King  Eagle  was  after  Plunger,  and  Peter  didn't 
understand  this  at  all.  You  see,  he  didn't  under- 
stand what  King  Eagle  was  screaming.  But 
Plunger  did.  King  Eagle  was  screaming,  "Drop 
that  fish  !     Drop  that  fish  ! " 

Plunger  didn't  intend  to  drop  that  fish  if  he 
could  help  himself.  It  was  his  fish.  Hadn't  he 
caught  it  himself?  He  didn't  intend  to  give  it 
up  to  any  robber  of  the  air,  even  though  that 
robber  was  King  Eagle  himself,  unless  he  was 
actually  forced  to.  So  Plunger  began  to  dodge 
and  twist  and  turn  in  the  air,  all  the  time  mounting 
higher  and  higher,  and  all  the  time  screaming 
harshly,  "Robber!  Thief!  I  won't  drop  this 
fish  !     It's  mine  !     It's  mine  !" 

Now  the  fish  was  heavy,  so  of  course  Plunger 
couldn't  fly  as  easily  and  swiftly  as  if  he  were 

[  147  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

carrying  nothing.  Up,  up  he  went,  but  all  the 
time  King  Eagle  went  up  with  him,  circling  round 
him,  screaming  harshly,  and  threatening  to  strike 
him  with  those  great,  cruel,  curved  claws.  Peter 
watched  them,  so  excited  that  he  fairly  danced. 
"0,  I  do  hope  Plunger  will  get  away  from  that 
big  robber,"  cried  Peter.  "He  may  be  king  of 
the  air,  but  he  is  a  robber  just  the  same." 

Plunger  and  King  Eagle  were  now  high  in  the 
air  above  the  Big  Piver.  Suddenly  King  Eagle 
swung  above  Plunger  and  for  an  instant  seemed 
to  hold  himself  still  there,  just  as  Plunger  had 
done  before  he  had  shot  down  into  the  water  after 
that  fish.  There  was  a  still  harsher  note  in  King 
Eagle's  scream.  If  Peter  had  been  near  enough 
he  would  have  seen  a  look  of  anger  and  determina- 
tion in  King  Eagle's  fierce,  yellow  eyes.  Plunger 
saw  it  and  knew  what  it  meant.  He  knew  that 
King  Eagle  would  stand  for  no  more  fooling. 
With  a  cry  of  bitter  disappointment  and  anger 
he  let  go  of  the  big  fish. 

Down,  down,  dropped  the  fish,  shining  in  the 
sun  like  a  bar  of  silver.  King  Eagle's  wings  half 
closed  and  he  shot  down  like  a  thunderbolt.  Just 
before  the  fish  reached  the  water  King  Eagle 
struck  it  with  his  great  claws,  checked  himself 
by  spreading  his  broad  wings  and  tail,  and  then 
in  triumph  flew  over  to  the  very  tree  towards  which 

[148] 


KING    EAGLE,  the  bald   or   whiteheaded   Eagle.      His  head,  neck   and   tail   are 
snowy  white. 

PLUNGER    THE    OSPREY,    one    of    our    largest    hawks,   brown    above    and 
white  beneath. 


A  Fisherman  Robbed 

Plunger  had  started  when  he  had  caught  the  fish. 
There  he  leisurely  made  his  breakfast,  apparently 
enjoying  it  as  much  as  if  he  had  come  by  it  honestly. 

As  for  poor  Plunger,  he  shook  himself,  screamed 
angrily  once  or  twice,  then  appeared  to  think  that 
it  was  wisest  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  matter 
and  that  there  were  more  fish  'where  that  one  had 
come  from,  for  he  once  more  began  to  sail  in 
circles  over  the  Big  River,  searching  for  a  fish  near 
the  surface.  Peter  watched  him  until  he  saw  him 
catch  another  fish  and  fly  away  with  it  in  triumph. 
King  Eagle  watched  him,  too,  but  having  had  a 
good  breakfast  he  was  quite  willing  to  let  Plunger 
enjoy  his  catch  in  peace. 

Late  that  afternoon  Peter  visited  the  Old 
Orchard,  for  he  just  had  to  tell  Jenny  Wren 
all  about  what  he  had  seen  that  morning. 

"King  Eagle  is  king  simply  because  he  is  so 
big  and  fierce  and  strong,"  sputtered  Jenny.  "He 
isn't  kingly  in  his  habits,  not  the  least  bit.  He 
never  hesitates  to  rob  those  smaller  than  himself, 
just  as  you  saw  him  rob  Plunger.  He  is  very 
fond  of  fish,  and  once  in  a  while  he  catches  one 
for  himself  when  Plunger  isn't  around  to  be  robbed, 
but  he  isn't  a  very  good  fisherman,  and  he  isn't 
the  least  bit  fussy  about  his  fish.  Plunger  eats 
only  fresh  fish  which  he  catches  himself,  but  King 
Eagle  will  eat  dead  fish  which  he  finds  on  the 

[  149  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

shore.     He  doesn't  seem  to  care  how  long  they 
have  been  dead  either." 

"Doesn't  he  eat  anything  but  fish?"  asked 
Peter  innocently. 

"Well,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren,  her  eyes  twink- 
ling, "I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  run  across  the 
Green  Meadows  in  sight  of  King  Eagle.  I  am 
told  he  is  very  fond  of  Rabbit.  In  fact  he  is  very 
fond  of  fresh  meat  of  any  kind.  He  even  catches 
the  babies  of  Lightfoot  the  Deer  when  he  gets  a 
chance.  He  is  so  swift  of  wing  that  even  the 
members  of  the  Duck  family  fear  him,  for  he  is 
especially  fond  of  fat  Duck.  Even  Honker  the 
Goose  is  not  safe  from  him.  King  he  may  be, 
but  he  rules  only  through  fear.  He  is  a  white- 
headed  old  robber.  The  best  thing  I  can  say  of 
him  is  that  he  takes  a  mate  for  life  and  is  loyal 
and  true  to  her  as  long  as  she  lives,  and  that  is  a 
great  many  years.  By  the  way,  Peter,  did  you 
know  that  she  is  bigger  than  he  is,  and  that  the 
young  during  the  first  year  after  leaving  their 
nest,  are  bigger  than  their  parents  and  do  not  have 
white  heads?  By  the  time  they  get  white  heads 
they  are  the  same  size  as  their  parents." 

"That's  queer  and  it's  hard  to  believe,"  said  Peter. 

"It  is  queer,  but  it  is  true  just  the  same,  whether 
you  believe  it  or  not,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren,  and 
whisked  out  of  sight  into  her  home. 

[  150  ] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A    FISHING    PARTY 

Peter  Rabbit  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  Old  Briar- 
patch  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  to  stay 
at  home,  which  was  the  wise  and  proper  thing  to 
do,  or  to  go  call  on  some  of  the  friends  he  had  not 
yet  visited.  A  sharp,  harsh  rattle  caused  him  to 
look  up  to  see  a  bird  about  a  third  larger  than 
Welcome  Robin,  and  with  a  head  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  the  size  of  his  body.  He  was  flying 
straight  towards  the  Smiling  Pool,  rattling  harshly 
as  he  flew.  The  mere  sound  of  his  voice  settled 
the  matter  for  Peter.  "It's  Rattles  the  King- 
fisher," he  cried.  "I  think  I'll  run  over  to  the 
Smiling  Pool  and  pay  him  my  respects." 

So  Peter  started  for  the  Smiling  Pool  as  fast  as 
his  long  legs  could  take  him,  lipperty-lipperty- 
lip.  He  had  lost  sight  of  Rattles  the  Kingfisher, 
and  when  he  reached  the  bank  of  the  Smiling 
Pool  he  was  in  doubt  which  way  to  turn.  It  was 
very  early  in  the  morning  and  there  was  not  so 
much  as  a  ripple  on  the  surface  of  the  Smiling 
Pool.     As  Peter  sat  there  trying  to  make  up  his 

[151] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

mind  which  way  to  go,  he  saw  coming  from  the 
direction  of  the  Big  River  a  great,  broad-winged 
bird,  flying  slowly.  He  seemed  to  have  no  neck 
at  all,  but  carried  straight  out  behind  him  were 
two  long  legs. 

"Longlegs  the  Great  Blue  Heron!  I  wonder 
if  he  is  coming  here,"  exclaimed  Peter.  "I  do 
hope  so." 

Peter  stayed  right  where  he  was  and  waited. 
Nearer  and  nearer  came  Longlegs.  When  he  was 
right  opposite  Peter  he  suddenly  dropped  his  long 
legs,  folded  his  great  wings,  and  alighted  right  on 
the  edge  of  the  Smiling  Pool  across  from  where 
Peter  was  sitting.  If  he  seemed  to  have  no  neck 
at  all  when  he  was  flying,  now  he  seemed  to  be  all 
neck  as  he  stretched  it  to  its  full  length.  The 
fact  is,  his  neck  was  so  long  that  when  he  was 
flying  he  carried  it  folded  back  on  his  shoulders. 
Never  before  had  Peter  had  such  an  opportunity 
to  see  Longlegs. 

He  stood  quite  four  feet  high.  The  top  of  his 
head  and  throat  were  white.  Prom  the  base  of 
his  great  bill  and  over  his  eye  was  a  black  stripe 
which  ended  in  two  long,  slender,  black  feathers 
hanging  from  the  back  of  his  head.  His  bill  was 
longer  than  his  head,  stout  and  sharp  like  a  spear 
and  yellow  in  color.  His  long  neck  was  a  light 
brownish-gray.     His  back  and  wings  were  of  a 

[  15%  ] 


A  Fishing  Party 

bluish  color.  The  bend  of  each  wing  and  the 
feathered  parts  of  his  legs  were  a  rusty -red.  The 
remainder  of  his  legs  and  his  feet  were  black. 
Hanging  down  over  his  breast  were  beautiful  long 
pearly-gray  feathers  quite  unlike  any  Peter  had 
seen  on  any  of  his  other  feathered  friends.  In 
spite  of  the  length  of  his  legs  and  the  length  of  his 
neck  he  was  both  graceful  and  handsome. 

"I  wonder  what  has  brought  him  over  to  the 
Smiling  Pool,"  thought  Peter. 

He  didn't  have  to  wait  long  to  find  out.  After 
standing  perfectly  still  with  his  neck  stretched 
to  its  full  height  until  he  was  sure  that  no  danger 
was  near,  Longlegs  waded  into  the  water  a  few 
steps,  folded  his  neck  back  on  his  shoulders  until 
his  long  bill  seemed  to  rest  on  his  breast,  and  then 
remained  as  motionless  as  if  there  were  no  life 
in  him.  Peter  also  sat  perfectly  still.  By  and 
by  he  began  to  wonder  if  Longlegs  had  gone  to 
sleep.  His  own  patience  was  reaching  an  end 
and  he  was  just  about  to  go  on  in  search  of  Rattles 
the  Kingfisher  when  like  a  flash  the  dagger-like 
bill  of  Longlegs  shot  out  and  down  into  the  water. 
When  he  withdrew  it  Peter  saw  that  Longlegs 
had  caught  a  little  fish  which  he  at  once  proceeded 
to  swallow  head-first.  Peter  almost  laughed  right 
out  as  he  watched  the  funny  efforts  of  Longlegs 
to  gulp  that  fish   down  his  long  throat.     Then 

[153] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

Longlegs  resumed  his  old  position  as  motionless 
as  before. 

It  was  no  trouble  now  for  Peter  to  sit  still,  for 
he  was  too  interested  in  watching  this  lone  fisher- 
man to  think  of  leaving.  It  wasn't  long  before 
Longlegs  made  another  catch  and  this  time  it  was 
a  fat  Pollywog.  Peter  thought  of  how  he  had 
watched  Plunger  the  Osprey  fishing  in  the  Big 
River  and  the  difference  in  the  ways  of  the  two 
fishermen. 

"Plunger  hunts  for  his  fish  while  Longlegs  waits 
for  his  fish  to  come  to  him,"  thought  Peter.  "I 
wonder  if  Longlegs  never  goes  hunting." 

As  if  in  answer  to  Peter's  thought  Longlegs 
seemed  to  conclude  that  no  more  fish  were  coming 
his  way.  He  stretched  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  looked  sharply  this  way  and  that  way  to 
make  sure  that  all  was  safe,  then  began  to  walk 
along  the  edge  of  the  Smiling  Pool.  He  put  each 
foot  down  slowly  and  carefully  so  as  to  make  no 
noise.  He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  that 
great  bill  darted  down  like  a  flash,  and  Peter  saw 
that  he  had  caught  a  careless  young  Frog.  A  few 
steps  farther  on  he  caught  another  Pollywog. 
Then  coming  to  a  spot  that  suited  him,  he  once 
more  waded  in  and  began  to  watch  for  fish. 

Peter  was  suddenly  reminded  of  Rattles  the 
Kingfisher,  whom  he  had  quite  forgotten.     From 

[154] 


A  Fishing  Party 

the  Big  Hickory -tree  on  the  bank,  Rattles  flew 
out  over  the  Smiling  Pool,  hovered  for  an  instant, 
then  plunged  down  head-first.  There  was  a  splash, 
and  a  second  later  Rattles  was  in  the  air  again, 
shaking  the  water  from  him  in  a  silver  spray.  In 
his  long,  stout,  black  bill  was  a  little  fish.  He 
flew  back  to  a  branch  of  the  Big  Hickory-tree  that 
hung  out  over  the  water  and  thumped  the  fish 
against  the  branch  until  it  was  dead.  Then  he 
turned  it  about  so  he  could  swallow  it  head-first. 
It  was  a  big  fish  for  the  size  of  the  fisherman  and 
he  had  a  dreadful  time  getting  it  down.  But  at 
last  it  was  down,  and  Rattles  set  himself  to  watch 
for  another.  The  sun  shone  full  on  him,  and 
Peter  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise. 

"I  never  knew  before  how  handsome  Rattles 
is,"  thought  Peter.  He  was  about  the  size  of 
Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker,  but  his  head  made  him 
look  bigger  than  he  really  was.  You  see,  the 
feathers  on  top  of  his  head  stood  up  in  a  crest, 
as  if  they  had  been  brushed  the  wrong  way. 
His  head,  back,  wings  and  tail  were  a  bluish-gray. 
His  throat  was  white  and  he  wore  a  white  collar. 
In  front  of  each  eye  was  a  little  white  spot.  Across 
his  breast  was  a  belt  of  bluish-gray,  and  under- 
neath he  was  white.  There  were  tiny  spots  of 
white  on  his  wings,  and  his  tail  was  spotted  with 
white.     His  bill  was  black  and,  like  that  of  Long- 

f  155  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

legs,  was  long,  and  stout,  and  sharp.  It  looked 
almost  too  big  for  his  size. 

Presently  Rattles  flew  out  and  plunged  into 
the  Smiling  Pool  again,  this  time,  very  near  to 
where  Longlegs  was  patiently  waiting.  He  caught 
a  fish,  for  it  is  not  often  that  Rattles  misses.  It 
was  smaller  than  the  first  one  Peter  had  seen  him 
catch,  and  this  time  as  soon  as  he  got  back  to  the 
Big  Hickory-tree,  he  swallowed  it  without  thump- 
ing it  against  the  branch.  As  for  Longlegs,  he 
looked  thoroughly  put  out.  For  a  moment  or 
two  he  stood  glaring  angrily  up  at  Rattles.  You 
see,  when  Rattles  had  plunged  so  close  to  Longlegs 
he  had  frightened  all  the  fish.  Finally  Longlegs 
seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  that  there  was  room 
for  but  one  fisherman  at  a  time  at  the  Smiling 
Pool.  Spreading  his  great  wings,  folding  his 
long  neck  back  on  his  shoulders,  and  dragging  his 
long  legs  out  behind  him,  he  flew  heavily  away 
in  the  direction  of  the  Big  River. 

Rattles  remained  long  enough  to  catch  another 
little  fish,  and  then  with  a  harsh  rattle  flew  off 
down  the  Laughing  Brook.  "I  would  know  him 
anywhere  by  that  rattle,"  thought  Peter.  "There 
isn't  any  one  who  can  make  a  noise  anything  like 
it.  I  wonder  where  he  has  gone  to  now.  He 
must  have  a  nest,  but  I  haven't  the  least  idea 
what  kind  of  a  nest  he  builds.     Hello !     There's 

[156] 


V 


jr 


?     ■    »',. 


RATTLES   THE  KINGFISHER.      His  voice  sounds  like  a  watchman's  rattle. 

TEETER  THE  SPOTTED  SANDPIPER.      You  can  tell  him  by  the  way  he 
bobs  or  teeters. 

LONGLEGS    THE    GREAT     BLUE     HERON.      He  stands   nearly  four   feet 
high. 


A  Fishing  Party 

Grandfather   Frog   over   on    his   green   lily   pad. 
Perhaps  he  can  tell  me." 

So  Peter  hopped  along  until  he  was  near  enough 
to  talk  to  Grandfather  Frog.  "What  kind  of  a 
nest  does  Rattles  the  Kingfisher  build?"  repeated 
Grandfather  Frog.  ."Chug-arum,  Peter  Rabbit! 
I  thought  everybody  knew  that  Rattles  doesn't 
build  a  nest.  At  least  I  wouldn't  call  it  a  nest. 
He  lives  in  a  hole  in  the  ground." 

'What!"    cried    Peter,    and    looked    as    if   he 
couldn't  believe  his  own  ears. 

Grandfather  Frog  grinned  and  his  goggly  eyes 
twinkled.  'Yes,"  said  he,  "Rattles  lives  in  a 
hole  in  the  ground." 

"But  —  but  —  but  what  kind  of  a  hole?" 
stammered  Peter. 

"Just  plain  hole,"  retorted  Grandfather  Frog, 
grinning  more  broadly  than  ever.  Then  seeing 
how  perplexed  and  puzzled  Peter  looked,  he  went 
on  to  explain.  "He  usually  picks  out  a  high 
gravelly  bank  close  to  the  water  and  digs  a  hole 
straight  in  just  a  little  way  from  the  top.  He 
makes  it  just  big  enough  for  himself  and  Mrs. 
Rattles  to  go  in  and  out  of  comfortably,  and 
he  digs  it  straight  in  for  several  feet.  I'm 
told  that  at  the  end  of  it  he  makes  a  sort  of 
bedroom,  because  he  usually  has  a  good-sized 
family." 

1157] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 


a 


Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  digs  it  himself?" 
asked  Peter. 

Grandfather  Frog  nodded.  "If  he  doesn't, 
Mrs.  Kingfisher  does,"  he  replied.  "Those  big 
bills  of  theirs  are  picks  as  well  as  fish  spears. 
They  loosen  the  sand  with  those  and  scoop  it  out 
with  their  feet.  I've  never  seen  the  inside  of 
their  home  myself,  but  I'm  told  that  their  bedroom 
is  lined  with  fish  bones.  Perhaps  you  may  call 
that  a  nest,  but  I  don't." 

"I'm  going  straight  down  the  Laughing  Brook 
to  look  for  that  hole,"  declared  Peter,  and  left  in 
such  a  hurry  that  he  forgot  to  be  polite  enough 
to  say  thank  you  to  Grandfather  Frog. 


[158] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SOME    FEATHERED    DIGGERS 

Peter  Rabbit  scampered  along  down  one  bank 
of  the  Laughing  Brook,  eagerly  watching  for  a 
high,  gravelly  bank  such  as  Grandfather  Frog  had 
said  that  Rattles  the  Kingfisher  likes  to  make  his 
home  in.  If  Peter  had  stopped  to  do  a  little 
thinking,  he  would  have  known  that  he  was  simply 
wasting  time.  You  see,  the  Laughing  Brook  was 
flowing  through  the  Green  Meadows,  so  of  course 
there  would  be  no  high,  gravelly  bank,  because 
the  Green  Meadows  are  low.  But  Peter  Rabbit, 
in  his  usual  heedless  way,  did  no  thinking.  He 
had  seen  Rattles  fly  down  the  Laughing  Brook, 
and  so  he  had  just  taken  it  for  granted  that  the 
home  of  Rattles  must  be  somewhere  down  there. 

At  last  Peter  reached  the  place  where  the 
Laughing  Brook  entered  the  Big  River.  Of  course 
he  hadn't  found  the  home  of  Rattles.  But  now 
he  did  find  something  that  for  the  time  being  made 
him  quite  forget  Rattles  and  his  home.  Just 
before  it  reached  the  Big  River  the  Laughing 
Brook  wound  through  a  swamp  in  which   were 

[159] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

many  tall  trees  and  a  great  number  of  young 
trees.  A  great  many  big  ferns  grew  there  and 
were  splendid  to  hide  under.  Peter  always  did 
like  that  swamp. 

He  had  stopped  to  rest  in  a  clump  of  ferns  when 
he  was  startled  by  seeing  a  great  bird  alight  in  a 
tree  just  a  little  way  from  him.  His  first  thought 
was  that  it  was  a  Hawk,  so  you  can  imagine  how 
surprised  and  pleased  he  was  to  discover  that  it 
was  Mrs.  Longlegs.  Somehow  Peter  had  always 
thought  of  Longlegs  the  Blue  Heron  as  never 
alighting  anywhere  except  on  the  ground.  But 
here  was  Mrs.  Longlegs  in  a  tree.  Having  noth- 
ing to  fear,  Peter  crept  out  from  his  hiding  place 
that  he  might  see  better. 

i  In  the  tree  in  which  Mrs.  Longlegs  was  perched 
and  just  below  her  he  saw  a  little  platform  of 
sticks.  He  didn't  suspect  that  it  was  a  nest, 
because  it  looked  too  rough  and  loosely  put  to- 
gether to  be  a  nest.  Probably  he  wouldn't  have 
thought  about  it  at  all  had  not  Mrs.  Longlegs 
settled  herself  on  it  right  while  Peter  was  watch- 
ing. It  didn't  seem  big  enough  or  strong  enough 
to  hold  her,  but  it  did. 

"As  I  live,"  thought  Peter,  "I've  found  the 
nest  of  Longlegs !  He  and  Mrs.  Longlegs  may 
be  good  fishmen  but  they  certainly  are  mighty 
poor  nest-builders.      I  don't  see  how  under  the 

[160] 


Some  Feathered  Diggers 

sun  Mrs.  Longlegs  ever  gets  on  and  off  that  nest 
without  kicking  the  eggs  out." 

Peter  sat  around  for  a  while,  but  as  he  didn't 
care  to  let  his  presence  be  known,  and  as  there 
was  no  one  to  talk  to,  he  presently  made  up  his 
mind  that  being  so  near  the  Big  River  he  would 
go  over  there  to  see  if  Plunger  the  Osprey  was 
fishing  again  on  this  day. 

When  he  reached  the  Big  River,  Plunger  was 
not  in  sight.  Peter  was  disappointed.  He  had 
just  about  made  up  his  mind  to  return  the  way 
he  had  come,  when  from  beyond  the  swamp, 
farther  up  the  Big  River,  he  heard  the  harsh, 
rattling  cry  of  Rattles  the  Kingfisher.  It  re- 
minded him  of  what  he  had  come  for,  and  he  at 
once  began  to  hurry  in  that  direction. 

Peter  came  out  of  the  swamp  on  a  little  sandy 
beach.  There  he  squatted  for  a  moment,  blink- 
ing his  eyes,  for  out  there  the  sun  was  very  bright. 
Then  a  little  way  beyond  him  he  discovered  some- 
thing that  in  his  eager  curiosity  made  him  quite 
forget  that  he  was  out  in  the  open  where  it  was 
anything  but  safe  for  a  Rabbit  to  be.  What  he 
saw  was  a  high  sandy  bank.  With  a  hasty  glance 
this  way  and  that  way  to  make  sure  that  no  enemy 
was  in  sight,  Peter  scampered  along  the  edge  of 
the  water  till  he  was  right  at  the  foot  of  that  sandy 
bank.     Then  he  squatted  down  and  looked  eagerly 

[161] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

for  a  hole  such  as  he  imagined  Rattles  the  King- 
fisher might  make.  Instead  of  one  hole  he  saw 
a  lot  of  holes,  but  they  were  very  small  holes. 
He  knew  right  away  that  Rattles  couldn't  possibly 
get  in  or  out  of  a  single  one  of  those  holes.  In 
fact,  those  holes  in  the  bank  were  no  bigger  than 
the  holes  Downy  the  Woodpecker  makes  in  trees. 
Peter  couldn't  imagine  who  or  what  had  made 
them. 

As  Peter  sat  there  staring  and  wondering  a  trim 
little  head  appeared  at  the  entrance  to  one  of 
those  holes.  It  was  a  trim  little  head  with  a  very 
small  bill  and  a  snowy  white  throat.  At  first 
glance  Peter  thought  it  was  his  old  friend,  Skim- 
mer the  Tree  Swallow,  and  he  was  just  on  the 
point  of  asking  what  under  the  sun  Skimmer  was 
doing  in  such  a  place  as  that,  when  with  a  lively 
twitter  of  greeting  the  owner  of  that  little  home 
in  the  bank  flew  out  and  circled  over  Peter's  head. 
It  wasn't  Skimmer  at  all.  It  was  Banker  the 
Bank  Swallow,  own  cousin  to  Skimmer  the  Tree 
Swallow.  Peter  recognized  him  the  instant  he 
got  a  full  view  of  him. 

In  the  first  place  Banker  was  a  little  smaller 
than  Skimmer.  Then  too,  he  was  not  nearly  so 
handsome.  His  back,  instead  of  being  that  beauti- 
ful rich  steel-blue  which  makes  Skimmer  so  hand- 
some,   was    a    sober    grayish-brown.     He    was    a 

[162] 


Some  Feathered  Diggers 

little  darker  on  his  wings  and  tail.  His  breast, 
instead  of  being  all  snowy  white,  was  crossed 
with  a  brownish  band.  His  tail  was  more  nearly 
square  across  the  end  than  is  the  case  with  other 
members  of  the  Swallow  family. 

"Wha  —  wha  —  what  were  you  doing  there  ?" 
stuttered  Peter,  his  eyes  popping  right  out  with 
curiosity  and  excitement. 

"Why,  that's  my  home,"  twittered  Banker. 

"Do  —  do  —  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  live 
in  a  hole  in  the  ground  ?"  cried  Peter. 

"Certainly;  why  not?"  twittered  Banker  as 
he  snapped  up  a  fly  just  over  Peter's  head. 

"I  don't  know  any  reason  why  you  shouldn't," 
confessed  Peter.  "But  somehow  it  is  hard  for 
me  to  think  of  birds  as  living  in  holes  in  the 
ground.  I've  only  just  found  out  that  Rattles 
the  Kingfisher  does.  But  I  didn't  suppose  there 
were  any  others.  Did  you  make  that  hole  your- 
self, Banker?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Banker.  "That  is,  I 
helped  make  it.  Mrs.  Banker  did  her  share. 
'Way  in  at  the  end  of  it  we've  got  the  nicest  little 
nest  of  straw  and  feathers.  What  is  more,  we've 
got  four  white  eggs  in  there,  and  Mrs.  Banker  is 
sitting  on  them  now." 

By  this  time  the  air  seemed  to  be  full  of  Banker's 
friends,  skimming  and  circling  this  way  and  that, 

[  163  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

and   going  in  and  out  of  the  little  holes  in  the 
bank. 

"I  am  like  my  big  cousin,  Twitter  the  Purple 
Martin,  fond  of  society,"  explained  Banker.  "We 
Bank  Swallows  like  our  homes  close  together. 
You  said  that  you  had  just  learned  that  Rattles 
the  Kingfisher  has  his  home  in  a  bank.  Do  you 
know  where  it  is?" 

"No,"  replied  Peter.  "I  was  looking  for  it 
when  I  discovered  your  home.  Can  you  tell  me 
where  it  is  ?  " 

"I'll  do  better  than  that;"  replied  Banker. 
"I'll  show  you  where  it  is." 

He  darted  some  distance  up  along  the  bank  and 
hovered  for  an  instant  close  to  the  top.  Peter 
scampered  over  there  and  looked  up.  There, 
just  a  few  inches  below  the  top,  was  another  hole, 
a  very  much  larger  hole  than  those  he  had  just 
left.  As  he  was  staring  up  at  it  a  head  with  a 
long  sharp  bill  and  a  crest  which  looked  as  if  all 
the  feathers  on  the  top  of  his  head  had  been 
brushed  the  wrong  way,  was  thrust  out.  It  was 
Rattles  himself.  He  didn't  seem  at  all  glad  to 
see  Peter.  In  fact,  he  came  out  and  darted  at 
Peter  angrily.  Peter  didn't  wait  to  feel  that 
sharp  dagger-like  bill.  He  took  to  his  heels. 
He  had  seen  what  he  started  out  to  find  and  he 
was  quite  content  to  go  home. 

[164] 


Some  Feathered  Diggers 

Peter  took  a  short  cut  across  the  Green  Meadows. 
It  took  him  past  a  certain  tall,  dead  tree.  A 
sharp  cry  of  "Kill-ee,  kill-ee,  kill-ee!"  caused 
Peter  to  look  up  just  in  time  to  see  a  trim,  hand- 
some bird  whose  body  was  about  the  size  of 
Sammy  Jay's  but  whose  longer  wings  and  longer 
tail  made  him  look  bigger.  One  glance  was 
enough  to  tell  Peter  that  this  was  a  member  of 
the  Hawk  family,  the  smallest  of  the  family.  It 
was  Killy  the  Sparrow  Hawk.  He  is  too  small 
for  Peter  to  fear  him,  so  now  Peter  was  possessed 
of  nothing  more  than  a  very  lively  curiosity,  and 
sat  up  to  watch. 

Out  over  the  meadow  grass  Killy  sailed.  Sud- 
denly, with  beating  wings,  he  kept  himself  in 
one  place  in  the  air  and  then  dropped  down  into 
the  grass.  He  was  up  again  in  an  instant,  and 
Peter  could  see  that  he  had  a  fat  grasshopper  in 
his  claws.  Back  to  the  top  of  the  tall,  dead  tree 
he  flew  and  there  ate  the  grasshopper.  When  it 
was  finished  he  sat  up  straight  and  still,  so  still 
that  he  seemed  a  part  of  the  tree  itself.  With 
those  wonderful  eyes  of  his  he  was  watching  for 
another  grasshopper  or  for  a  careless  Meadow 
Mouse. 

Very  trim  and  handsome  was  Killy.  His  back 
was  reddish-brown  crossed  by  bars  of  black. 
His  tail  was  reddish-brown  with  a  band  of  black 

[165] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

near  its  end  and  a  white  tip.  His  wings  were 
slaty-blue  with  little  bars  of  black,  the  longest 
feathers  having  white  bars.  Underneath  he  was 
a  beautiful  buff,  spotted  with  black.  His  head 
was  bluish  with  a  reddish  patch  right  on  top. 
Before  and  behind  each  ear  was  a  black  mark. 
His  rather  short  bill,  like  the  bills  of  all  the  rest 
of  his  family,  was  hooked. 

As  Peter  sat  there  admiring  Killy,  for  he  was 
handsome  enough  for  any  one  to  admire,  he 
noticed  for  the  first  time  a  hole  high  up  in  the 
trunk  of  the  tree,  such  a  hole  as  Yellow  Wing  the 
Flicker  might  have  made  and  probably  did  make. 
Right  away  Peter  remembered  what  Jenny  Wren 
had  told  him  about  Killy's  making  his  nest  in 
just  such  a  hole.  "I  wonder,"  thought  Peter, 
"if  that  is  Killy's  home." 

Just  then  Killy  flew  over  and  dropped  in  the 
grass  just ,  in  front  of  Peter,  where  he  caught 
another  fat  grasshopper.  "Is  that  your  home 
up  there?"  asked  Peter  hastily. 

"It  certainly  is,  Peter,"  replied  Killy.  "This 
is  the  third  summer  Mrs.  Killy  and  I  have  had 
our  home  there." 

"You  seem  to  be  very  fond  of  grasshoppers," 
Peter  ventured. 

"I  am,"  replied  Killy.  "They  are  very  fine 
eating  when  one  can  get  enough  of  them." 

[166] 


it 


Some  Feathered  Diggers 

Are  they  the  only  kind  of  food  you  eat?" 
ventured  Peter. 

Killy  laughed.  It  was  a  shrill  laugh.  "I 
should  say  not,"  said  he.  "I  eat  spiders  and 
worms  and  all  sorts  of  insects  big  enough  to  give  a 
fellow  a  decent  bite.  But  for  real  good  eating 
give  me  a  fat  Meadow  Mouse.  I  don't  object  to 
a  Sparrow  or  some  other  small  bird  now  and  then, 
especially  when  I  have  a  family  of  hungry  young- 
sters to  feed.  But  take  it  the  season  through, 
I  live  mostly  on  grasshoppers  and  insects  and 
Meadow  Mice.  I  do  a  lot  of  good  in  this  world, 
I'd  have  you  know." 

Peter  said  that  he  supposed  that  this  was  so, 
but  all  the  time  he  kept  thinking  what  a  pity  it 
was  that  Killy  ever  killed  his  feathered  neighbors. 
As  soon  as  he  conveniently  could  he  politely  bade 
Killy  good-by  and  hurried  home  to  the  dear  Old 
Briar-patch,  there  to  think  over  how  queer  it 
seemed  that  a  member  of  the  Hawk  family  should 
nest  in  a  hollow  tree  and  a  member  of  the  Swallow 
family  should  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground. 


[167] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SOME    BIG    MOUTHS 

Boom  !  Peter  Rabbit  jumped  as  if  he  had  been 
shot.  It  was  all  so  sudden  and  unexpected  that 
Peter  jumped  before  he  had  time  to  think.  Then 
he  looked  foolish.  He  felt  foolish.  He  had  been 
scared  when  there  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! "  tittered  Jenny  Wren.  "  What 
are  you  jumping  for,  Peter  Rabbit?  That  was 
only  Boomer  the  Nighthawk." 

"I  know  it  just  as  well  as  you  do,  Jenny  Wren,'* 
retorted  Peter  rather  crossly.  ^You  know  being 
suddenly  startled  is  apt  to  make  people  feel  cross. 
'  If  I  had  seen  him  anywhere  about  he  wouldn't 
have  made  me  jump.  It  was  the  unexpectedness 
of  it.  I  don't  see  what  he  is  out  now  for,  anyway. 
It  isn't  even  dusk  yet,  and  I  thought  him  a  night 
bird." 

"So  he  is,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren.  "Anyway,  he 
is  a  bird  of  the  evening,  and  that  amounts  to  the 
same  thing.  But  just  because  he  likes  the  evening 
best  isn't  any  reason  why  he  shouldn't  come  out 
in  the  daylight,  is  it?" 

[168] 


Some  Big  Mouths 

"No-o,"  replied  Peter  rather  slowly.  "I  don't 
suppose  it  is." 

"Of  course  it  isn't,"  declared  Jenny  Wren.  "I 
see  Boomer  late  in  the  afternoon  nearly  every 
day.  On  cloudy  days  I  often  see  him  early  in  the 
afternoon.  He's  a  queer  fellow,  is  Boomer.  Such 
a  mouth  as  he  has !  I  suppose  it  is  very  handy 
to  have  a  big  mouth  if  one  must  catch  all  one's 
food  in  the  air,  but  it  certainly  isn't  pretty  when 
it  is  wide  open." 

"I  never  saw  a  mouth  yet  that  was  pretty  when 
it  was  wide  open,"  retorted  Peter,  who  was  still 
feeling  a  little  put  out.  "I've  never  noticed  that 
Boomer  has  a  particularly  big  mouth." 

"Well  he  has,  whether  you've  noticed  it  or  not," 
retorted  Jenny  Wren  sharply.  "He's  got  a  little 
bit  of  a  bill,  but  a  great  big  mouth.  I  don't  see 
what  folks  call  him  a  Hawk  for  when  he  isn't  a 
Hawk  at  all.  He  is  no  more  of  a  Hawk  than  I 
am,  and  goodness  knows  I'm  not  even  related  to 
the  Hawk  family." 

"I  believe  you  told  me  the  other  day  that 
Boomer  is  related  to  Sooty  the  Chimney  Swift," 
said  Peter. 

Jenny  nodded  vigorously.  "So  I  did,  Peter," 
she  replied.  "I'm  glad  you  have  such  a  good 
memory.  Boomer  and  Sooty  are  sort  of  second 
cousins.     There  is  Boomer  now,  way  up  in  the 

[169] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

sky.     I  do  wish  he'd   dive   and   scare  some  one 
else."  i 

Peter  tipped  his  head  'way  back.  High  up  in  the 
blue,  blue  sky  was  a  bird  which  at  that  distance 
looked  something  like  a  much  overgrown  Swallow. 
He  was  circling  and  darting  about  this  way  and 
that.  Even  while  Peter  watched  he  half  closed 
his  wings  and  shot  down  with  such  speed  that 
Peter  actually  held  his  breath.  It  looked  very, 
very  much  as  if  Boomer  would  dash  himself  to 
pieces.  Just  before  he  reached  the  earth  he 
suddenly  opened  those  wings  and  turned  upward. 
At  the  instant  he  turned,  the  booming  sound  which 
had  so  startled  Peter  was  heard.  It  was  made 
by  the  rushing  of  the  wind  through  the  larger 
feathers  of  his  wings  as  he  checked  himself. 

In  this  dive  Boomer  had  come  near  enough  for 
Peter  to  get  a  good  look  at  him.  His  coat  seemed 
to  be  a  mixture  of  brown  and  gray,  very  soft 
looking.  His  wings  were  brown  with  a  patch  of 
white  on  each.  There  was  a  white  patch  on  his 
throat  and  a  band  of  white  near  the  end  of  his 
tail. 

"He's  rather  handsome,  don't  you  think?" 
asked  Jenny  Wren. 

"He  certainly  is,"  replied  Peter.  "Do  you 
happen  to  know  what  kind  of  a  nest  the  Night- 
hawks  build,  Jenny?" 

[170] 


S    l 


"**« 


BOOMER    THE    NIGHTHAWK.      Look  for  him  in  the  air  1 
noon. 


four's  Ctfatez  Pueffcr 

ate  in   the  after- 


Some  Big  Mouths 

"They  don't  build  any."  Jenny  Wren  was  a 
picture  of  scorn  as  she  said  this.  "They  don't 
built  any  nests  at  all.  It  can't  be  because  the}'' 
are  lazy  for  I  don't  know  of  any  birds  that  hunt 
harder  for  their  living  than  do  Boomer  and  Mrs. 
Boomer." 

"But  if  there  isn't  any  nest  where  does  Mrs. 
Boomer  lay  her  eggs?"  cried  Peter.  "I  think 
you  must  be  mistaken,  Jenny  Wren.  They  must 
have  some  kind  of  a  nest.     Of  course  they  must." 

"Didn't  I  say  they  don't  have  a  nest  ?  "  sputtered 
Jenny.  "Mrs.  Nighthawk  doesn't  lay  but  two 
eggs,  anyway.  Perhaps  she  thinks  it  isn't  worth 
while  building  a  nest  for  just  two  eggs.  Anyway, 
she  lays  them  on  the  ground  or  on  a  flat  rock  and 
lets  it  go  at  that.  She  isn't  quite  as  bad  as  Sally 
Sly  the  Cowbird,  for  she  does  sit  on  those  eggs 
and  she  is  a  good  mother.  But  just  think  of  those 
Nighthawk  children  never  having  any  home ! 
It  doesn't  seem  to  me  right  and  it  never  will. 
Did  you  ever  see  Boomer  in  a  tree?" 

Peter  shook  his  head.  "I've  seen  him  on  the 
ground,"  said  he,  "but  I  never  have  seen  him  in 
a  tree.     Why  did  you  ask,  Jenny  Wren?" 

"To  find  out  how  well  you  have  used  your  eyes," 
snapped  Jenny.  "I  just  wanted  to  see  if  you 
had  noticed  anything  peculiar  about  the  way  he 
sits  in  a  tree.     But  as  long  as  you  haven't  seen 

[171  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

hiin  in  a  tree  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  he  doesn't 
sit  as  most  birds  do.  He  sits  lengthwise  of  a 
branch.  He  never  sits  across  it  as  the  rest  of  us 
do." 

"How  funny!"  exclaimed  Peter.  "I  suppose 
that  is  Boomer  making  that  queer  noise  we  hear." 

"Yes,"  replied  Jenny.  "He  certainly  does  like 
to  use  his  voice.  They  tell  me  that  some  folks  call 
him  Bullbat,  though  why  they  should  call  him  either 
Bat  or  Hawk  is  beyond  me.  I  suppose  you  know 
his  cousin,  Whip-poor-will." 

"I  should  say  I  do,"  replied  Peter.  "He's 
enough  to  drive  one  crazy  when  he  begins  to 
shout  'Whip  poor  Will'  close  at  hand.  That  voice 
of  his  goes  through  me  so  that  I  want  to  stop  both 
ears.  There  isn't  a  person  of  my  acquaintance 
who  can  say  a  thing  over  and  over,  over  and  over, 
so  many  times  without  stopping  for  breath.  Do 
I  understand  that  he  is  cousin  to  Boomer?" 

"He  is  a  sort  of  second  cousin,  the  same  as  Sooty 
the  Chimney  Swift,"  explained  Jenny  Wren. 
"They  look  enough  alike  to  be  own  cousins. 
Whip-poor-will  has  just  the  same  kind  of  a  big 
mouth  and  he  is  dressed  very  much  like  Boomer, 
save  that  there  are  no  white  patches  on  his  wings." 

"I've  noticed  that,"  said  Peter.  "That  is  one 
way  I  can  tell  them  apart." 

"So  you  noticed  that  much,  did  you?"  cried 

[172] 


Some  Big  Mouths 

Jenny.  "It  does  you  credit,  Peter.  It  does  you 
credit.  I  wonder  if  you  also  noticed  Whip-poor- 
will's  whiskers." 

"Whiskers!"  cried  Peter.  "Who  ever  heard 
of  a  bird  having  whiskers  ?  You  can  stuff  a  lot 
down  me,  Jenny  Wren,  but  there  are  some  things 
I  cannot  swallow,  and  bird  whiskers  is  one  of 
them." 

"Nobody  asked  you  to  swallow  them.  Nobody 
wants  you  to  swallow  them,"  snapped  Jenny. 
"I  don't  know  why  a  bird  shouldn't  have  whiskers 
just  as  well  as  you,  Peter  Habbit.  Anyway, 
Whip-poor-will  has  them  and  that  is  all  there  is 
to  it.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  whether  you 
believe  in  them  or  not,  they  are  there.  And  I 
guess  Whip-poor-will  finds  them  just  as  useful  as 
you  find  yours,  and  a  little  more  so.  I  know  this 
much,  that  if  I  had  to  catch  all  my  food  in  the  air 
I'd  want  whiskers  and  lots  of  them  so  that  the 
insects  would  get  tangled  in  them.  I  suppose 
that's  what  Whip-poor-will's  are  for." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Jenny  Wren,"  said  Peter 
very  humbly.  "Of  course  Whip-poor-will  has 
whiskers  if  you  say  so.  By  the  way,  do  the  Whip- 
poor-wills  do  any  better  in  the  matter  of  a  nest 
than  the  Nighthawks  ?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  replied  Jenny  Wren.  "Mrs. 
WTiip-poor-will  lays  her  eggs  right  on  the  ground, 

[  173  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

but  usually  in  the  Green  Forest  where  it  is  dark  and 
lonesome.  Like  Mrs.  Nighthawk,  she  lays  only 
two.  It's  the  same  way  with  another  second 
cousin,  Chuck-will's-widow." 

"Who?"  cried  Peter,  wrinkling  his  brows. 

"Chuck-will's-widow,"  Jenny  Wren  fairly 
shouted  it.  "Don't  you  know  Chuck-will's- 
widow?" 

Peter  shook  his  head.  "I  never  heard  of  such 
a  bird,"  he  confessed. 

"That's  what  comes  of  never  having  traveled," 
retorted  Jenny  Wren.  "If  you'd  ever  been  in  the 
South  the  way  I  have  you  would  know  Chuck- 
will's-widow.  He  looks  a  whole  lot  like  the  other 
two  we've  been  talking  about,  but  has  even  a 
bigger  mouth.  What's  more,  he  has  whiskers 
with  branches.  Now  you  needn't  look  as  if  you 
doubted  that,  Peter  Rabbit;  it's  so.  In  his 
habits'  he's  just  like  his  cousins,  no  nest  and  only 
two  eggs.  I  never  saw  people  so  afraid  to  raise  a 
real  family.  If  the  Wrens  didn't  do  better  than 
that,  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of  us." 
You  know  Jenny  usually  has  a  family  of  six  or 
eight. 


[174]1 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

i   THE    WARBLERS   ARRIVE 

i : 

If  there  is  one  family  of  feathered  friends  which 
perplexes  Peter  Rabbit  more  than  another,  it  is 
the  Warbler  family. 

"So  many  of  them  come  together  and  they  move 
about  so  constantly  that  a  fellow  doesn't  have  a 
chance  to  look  at  one  long  enough  to  recognize 
him,"  complained  Peter  to  Jenny  Wren  one  morn- 
ing when  the  Old  Orchard  was  fairly  alive  with 
little  birds  no  bigger  than  Jenny  Wren  herself. 

And  such  restless  little  folks  as  they  were ! 
They  were  not  still  an  instant,  flitting  from  tree 
to  tree,  twig  to  twig,  darting  out  into  the  air  and 
all  the  time  keeping  up  an  endless  chattering 
mingled  with  little  snatches  of  song.  Peter  would 
no  sooner  fix  his  eyes  on  one  than  another  entirely 
different  in  appearance  would  take  its  place. 
Occasionally  he  would  see  one  whom  he  recognized, 
—  one  who  would  stay  for  the  nesting  season.  But 
the  majority  of  them  would  stop  only  for  a  day  or 
two,  being  bound  farther  north  to  make  their 
summer  homes. 

Apparently  Jenny  Wren  did  not  look  upon  them 

[  175  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

altogether  with  favor.  Perhaps  Jenny  was  a  little 
bit  envious,  for  compared  with  the  bright  colors 
of  some  of  them  Jenny  was  a  very  homely  small 
person  indeed.  Then,  too,  there  were  so  many 
of  them  and  they  were  so  busy  catching  all  kinds  of 
small  insects  that  it  may  be  Jenny  was  a  little 
fearful  they  would  not  leave  enough  for  her  to  get 
her  own  meals  easily. 

"I  don't  see  what  they  have  to  stop  here  for," 
scolded  Jenny.  "They  could  just  as  well  go 
somewhere  else  where  they  would  not  be  taking 
the  food  out  of  the  mouths  of  honest  folks  who 
are  here  to  stay  all  summer.  Did  you  ever  in 
your  life  see  such  uneasy  people?  They  don't 
keep  still  an  instant.  It  positively  makes  me 
tired  just  to  watch  them." 

Peter  couldn't  help  but  chuckle,  for  Jenny 
Wren  herself  is  a  very  restless  and  uneasy  person. 
As  for  Peter,  he  was  thoroughly  enjoying  this 
visit  of  the  Warblers,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was 
having  no  end  of  trouble  trying  to  tell  who  was 
who.  Suddenly  one  darted  down  and  snapped  up 
a  fly  almost  under  Peter's  very  nose  and  was  back 
up  in  a  tree  before  Peter  could  get  his  breath. 
"It's  Zee  Zee  the  Redstart !"  cried  Peter  joyously. 
"I  would  know  Zee  Zee  anywhere.  Do  you  know 
who  he  reminds  me  of,  Jenny  Wren?" 

"Who?"  demanded  Jenny. 

[176] 


SUNSHINE    THE    YELLOW    WARBLER,  the  one  bird  who  is  all  yellow. 
ZEE-ZEE    THE    REDSTART,  dressed  chiefly  in  black  and  orange. 


SEEP-SEEP  THE  BROWN  CREEPER.  When  in  winter  you  see  a  little 
brown-backed  bird  going  round  and  round  up  a  tree  trunk  it  is  the  Brown 
Creener. 


The  Warblers  Arrive 

"Goldy   the   Oriole,"   replied  Peter  promptly. 
"Only  of  course  he's  ever  and  ever  so  much  smaller. 
He's  all  black  and  orange-red  and  white  something 
as  Goldy  is,  only  there  isn't  quite  so  much  orange 
on  him." 

For  just  an  instant  Zee  Zee  sat  still  with  his  tail 
spread.  His  head,  throat  and  back  were  black 
and  there  was  a  black  band  across  the  end  of  his 
tail  and  a  black  stripe  down  the  middle  of  it.  The 
rest  was  bright  orange-red.  On  each  wing  was  a 
band  of  orange-red  and  his  sides  were  the  same 
color.  Underneath  he  was  white  tinged  more  or 
less  with  orange. 

It  was  only  for  an  instant  that  Zee  Zee  sat  still ; 
then  he  was  in  the  air,  —  darting,  diving,  whirling, 
going  through  all  sorts  of  antics  as  he  caught  tiny 
insects  too  small  for  Peter  to  see.  Peter  began  to 
wonder  how  he  kept  still  long  enough  to  sleep  at 
night.  And  his  voice  was  quite  as  busy  as  his 
wings.  "Zee,  zee,  zee,  zee!"  he  would  cry. 
But  this  was  only  one  of  many  notes.  At  times 
he  would  sing  a  beautiful  little  song  and  then  again 
it  would  seem  as  if  he  were  trying  to  imitate  other 
members  of  the  Warbler  family. 

"I  do  hope  Zee  Zee  is  going  to  stay  here," 
said  Peter.     "I  just  love  to  watch  him." 

"He'll  stay  fast  enough,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren. 
"I  don't  imagine  he'll  stav  in  the  Old  Orchard 

[177] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

and  I  hope  he  won't,  because  if  he  does  it  will  make 
it  just  that  much  harder  for  me  to  catch  enough 
to  feed  my  big  family.  Probably  he  and  Mrs. 
Redstart  will  make  their  home  on  the  edge  of  the 
Green  Forest.  They  like  it  better  over  there,  for 
which  I  am  thankful.  There's  Mrs.  Redstart  now. 
Just  notice  that  where  Zee  Zee  is  bright  orange- 
red  she  is  yellow,  and  instead  of  a  black  head 
she  has  a  gray  head  and  her  back  is  olive-green 
with  a  grayish  tinge.  She  isn't  nearly  as  handsome 
as  Zee  Zee,  but  then,  that's  not  to  be  expected. 
She  lets  Zee  Zee  do  the  singing  and  the  showing  off 
and  she  does  the  work.  I  expect  she'll  build  that 
nest  with  almost  no  help  at  all  from  him.  But 
Zee  Zee  is  a  good  father,  I'll  say  that  much 
for  him.  He'll  do  his  share  in  feeding  their 
babies." 

Just  then  Peter  caught  sight  of  a  bird  all  in 
yellow.  He  was  about  the  same  size  as  Zee  Zee 
and  was  flitting  about  among  the  bushes  along  the 
old  stone  wall.  "There's  Sunshine!"  cried  Peter, 
and  without  being  polite  enough  to  even  bid  Jenny 
Wren  farewell,  he  scampered  over  to  where  he 
could  see  the  one  he  called  Sunshine  flitting  about 
from  bush  to  bush. 

"Oh,  Sunshine!"  he  cried,  as  he  came  within 
speaking  distance,  "I'm  ever  and  ever  so  glad  to 
see  you  back.     I  do  hope  you  and  Mrs.  Sunshine 

[178] 


The  Warblers  Arrive 

are  going  to  make  your  home  somewhere  near  here 
where  I  can  see  you  every  day." 

"Hello,  Peter !  I  am  just  as  glad  to  see  you  as 
you  are  to  see  me,"  cried  Sunshine  the  Yellow 
Warbler.  "Yes,  indeed,  we  certainly  intend  to 
stay  here  if  we  can  find  just  the  right  place  for 
our  nest.  It  is  lovely  to  be  back  here  again. 
We've  journeyed  so  far  that  we  don't  want  to 
go  a  bit  farther  if  we  can  help  it.  Have  you 
seen  Sally  Sly  the  Cowbird  around  here  this 
spring  r 

Peter  nodded.     "Yes,"  said  he,  "I  have." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  declared  Sunshine. 
"She  made  us  a  lot  of  trouble  last  year.  But  we 
fooled  her." 

"How  did  you  fool  her?"  asked  Peter. 

Sunshine  paused  to  pick  a  tiny  worm  from  a  leaf. 
"Well,"  said  he,  "she  found  our  nest  just  after  we 
had  finished  it  and  before  Mrs.  Sunshine  had  had 
a  chance  to  lay  an  egg.  Of  course  you  know  what 
she  did." 

"I  can  guess,"  replied  Peter.  "She  laid  one 
of  her  own  eggs  in  your  nest." 

Sunshine  stopped  to  pick  two  or  three  more 
worms  from  the  leaves.  'Yes,"  said  he.  "She 
did  just  that,  the  lazy  good-for-nothing  creature ! 
But  it  didn't  do  her  a  bit  of  good,  not  a  bit. 
That  egg  never  hatched.     We  fooled  her  and  that's 

[  179  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

what  we'll  do  again  if  she  repeats  that  trick  this 
year." 

"What  did  you  do,  throw  that  egg  out?"  asked 
Peter. 

"No,"  replied  Sunshine.  "Our  nest  was  too 
deep  for  us  to  get  that  egg  out.  We  just  made  a 
second  bottom  in  our  nest  right  over  that  egg  and 
built  the  sides  of  the  nest  a  little  higher.  Then 
we  took  good  care  that  she  didn't  have  a  chance 
to  lay  another  egg  in  there." 

"Then  you  had  a  regular  two-story  nest,  didn't 
you?"  cried  Peter,  opening  his  eyes  very  wide. 

Sunshine  nodded.  "Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  "and 
it  was  a  mighty  fine  nest,  if  I  do  say  it.  If  there's 
anything  Mrs.  Sunshine  and  I  pride  ourselves  on 
it  is  our  nest.  There  are  no  babies  who  have  a 
softer,  cozier  home  than  ours." 
[    "  What  do  you  make  your  nest  of  ?  "  asked  Peter. 

"Fine  grasses  and  soft  fibers  from  plants,  some 
hair  when  we  can  find  it,  and  a  few  feathers. 
But  we  always  use  a  lot  of  that  nice  soft  fern- 
cotton.  There  is  nothing  softer  or  nicer  that  I 
know  of." 

All  the  time  Peter  had  been  admiring  Sunshine 
and  thinking  how  wonderfully  well  he  was  named. 
At  first  glance  he  seemed  to  be  all  yellow,  as  if 
somehow  he  had  managed  to  catch  and  hold  the 
sunshine  in  his  feathers.     There  wasn't  a  white 

[180] 


The  Warblers  Arrive 

feather  on  him.  When  he  came  very  close  Peter 
could  see  that  on  his  breast  and  underneath  were 
little  streaks  of  reddish-brown  and  his  wings  and 
tail  were  a  little  blackish.  Otherwise  he  was  all 
yellow. 

Presently  he  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Sunshine.  She 
was  not  such  a  bright  yellow  as  was  Sunshine, 
having  an  olive-green  tint  on  her  back.  But 
underneath  she  was  almost  clear  yellow  without 
the  reddish-brown  streaks.  She  too  was  glad  to 
see  Peter,  but  couldn't  stop  to  gossip,  for  already, 
as  she  informed  Sunshine,  she  had  found  just  the 
place  for  their  nest.  Of  course  Peter  begged  to 
be  told  where  it  was.  But  the  two  little  folks  in 
yellow  snapped  their  bright  eyes  at  him  and  told 
him  that  that  was  their  secret  and  they  didn't 
propose  to  tell  a  living  soul. 

Perhaps  if  Peter  had  not  been  so  curious  and 
eager  to  get  acquainted  with  other  members  of 
the  Warbler  family  he  would  have  stayed  and  done 
a  little  spying.  As  it  was,  he  promised  himself 
to  come  back  to  look  for  that  nest  after  it  had 
been  built ;  then  he  scurried  back  among  the  trees 
of  the  Old  Orchard  to  look  for  other  friends  among 
the  busy  little  Warblers  who  were  making  the 
Old  Orchard  such  a  lively  place  that  morning. 
V  "There's  one  thing  about  it,"  cried  Peter. 
"  Any  one  can  tell  Zee  Zee  the  Redstart  by  his 

[181] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

black  and  flame  colored  suit.  There  is  no  other 
like  it.  And  any  one  can  tell  Sunshine  the  Yellow 
Warbler  because  there  isn't  anybody  else  who 
seems  to  be  all  yellow.  My,  what  a  lively,  lovely 
lot  these  Warblers  are  !" 


[182] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THREE    COUSINS    QUITE    UNLIKE 

As  Peter  Rabbit  passed  one  of  the  apple-trees 
in  the  Old  Orchard,  a  thin,  wiry  voice  hailed  him. 
"It's  a  wonder  you  wouldn't  at  least  say  you're  glad 
to  see  me  back,  Peter  Rabbit,"  said  the  voice. 

Peter,  who  had  been  hopping  along  rather  fast, 
stopped  abruptly  to  look  up.  Running  along  a 
limb  just  over  his  head,  now  on  top  and  now  under- 
neath, was  a  little  bird  with  a  black  and  white 
striped  coat  and  a  white  waistcoat.  Just  as 
Peter  looked  it  flew  down  to  near  the  base  of  the 
tree  and  began  to  run  straight  up  the  trunk, 
picking  things  from  the  bark  here  and  there  as 
it  ran.  Its  way  of  going  up  that  tree  trunk  re- 
minded Peter  of  one  of  his  winter  friends,  Seep 
Seep  the  Brown  Creeper. 

"It  strikes  me  that  this  is  a  mighty  poor  wel- 
come for  one  who  has  just  come  all  the  way  from 
South  America,"  said  the  little  black  and  white 
bird  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"Oh,  Creeper,  I  didn't  know  you  were  here!" 
cried  Peter.  "You  know  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 
I'm  just  as  glad  as  glad  can  be.     You  are  such  a 

[183] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

quiet  fellow  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  have  seen  you 
at  all  if  you  hadn't  spoken.  You  know  it's  always 
been  hard  work  for  me  to  believe  that  you  are 
really  and  truly  a  Warbler." 

"Why  so?"  demanded  Creeper  the  Black  and 
White  Warbler,  for  that  is  the  name  by  which  he 
is  commonly  known.  "Why  so?  Don't  I  look 
like  a  Warbler?" 

"Ye-es,"  said  Peter  slowly.  "You  do  look  like 
one  but  vou  don't  act  like  one." 

t) 

"In  what  way  don't  I  act  like  one  I  should  like 
to  know?"  demanded  Creeper. 

"Well,"  replied  Peter,  "all  the  rest  of  the 
Warblers  are  the  uneasiest  folks  I  know  of.  They 
can't  seem  to  keep  still  a  minute.  They  are  ever- 
lastingly flitting  about  this  way  and  that  way  and 
the  other  way.  I  actually  get  tired  watching  them. 
But  you  are  not  a  bit  that  way.  Then  the  way 
you  run  up  tree  trunks  and  along  the  limbs  isn't  a 
bit  Warbler-like.  Why  don't  you  flit  and  dart 
about  as  the  others  do?" 

Creeper's  bright  eyes  sparkled.  "I  don't  have 
to,"  said  he.  "I'm  going  to  let  you  into  a  little 
secret,  Peter.  The  rest  of  them  get  their  living 
from  the  leaves  and  twigs  and  in  the  air,  but  I've 
discovered  an  easier  way.  I've  found  out  that 
there  are  lots  of  little  worms  and  insects  and  eggs 
on  the  trunks  and  big  limbs  of  the  trees  and  that 

[184] 


Three  Cousins  Quite  Unlike 

I  can  get  the  best  kind  of  a  living  there  without 
flitting  about  everlastingly.  I  don't  have  to  share 
them  with  anybody  but  the  Woodpeckers,  Nut- 
hatches, and  Tommy  Tit  the  Chickadee." 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Peter.  "Those  folks 
you  have  mentioned  nest  in  holes  in  trees ;  do 
you?" 

"I  should  say  not,"  retorted  Creeper.  "I 
don't  know  of  any  Warbler  who  does.  I  build  on 
the  ground,  if  you  want  to  know.  I  nest  in  the 
Green  Forest.  Sometimes  I  make  my  nest  in  a 
little  hollow  at  the  base  of  a  tree ;  sometimes  I  put 
it  under  a  stump  or  rock  or  tuck  it  in  under  the 
roots  of  a  tree  that  has  been  blown  over.  But 
there,  Peter  Rabbit,  I've  talked  enough.  I'm 
glad  you're  glad  that  I'm  back,  and  I'm  glad  I'm 
back  too." 

Creeper  continued  on  up  the  trunk  of  the  tree, 
picking  here  and  picking  there.  Just  then  Peter 
caught  sight  of  another  friend  whom  he  could 
always  tell  by  the  black  mask  he  wore.  It  was 
Mummer  the  Yellow-throat.  He  had  just  darted 
into  the  thicket  of  bushes  along  the  old  stone  wall. 
Peter  promptly  hurried  over  there  to  look  for  him. 

When  Peter  reached  the  place  where  he  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Mummer,  no  one  was  to  be 
seen.  Peter  sat  down,  uncertain  which  way  to 
go.     Suddenly    Mummer    popped    out    right    in 

[  185  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

front  of  Peter,  seemingly  from  nowhere  at  all. 
His  throat  and  breast  were  bright  yellow  and  his 
back  wings  and  tail  a  soft  olive-green.  But  the 
most  remarkable  thing  about  him  was  the  mask  of 
black  right  across  his  cheeks,  eyes  and  forehead. 
At  least  it  looked  like  a  mask,  although  it  really 
wasn't  one. 

"Hello,  Mummer!"  cried  Peter. 

"Hello  yourself,  Peter  Rabbit!"  retorted 
Mummer  and  then  disappeared  as  suddenly  as 
he  had  appeared.  Peter  blinked  and  looked  in 
vain  all  about. 

"Looking  for  some  one?"  asked  Mummer, 
suddenly  popping  into  view  where  Peter  least 
expected  him. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  can't  you  sit  still  a 
minute?"  cried  Peter.  "How  do  you  expect  a 
fellow  can  talk  to  you  when  he  can't  keep  his  eyes 
on  you  more  than  two  seconds  at  a  time." 

"Who  asked  you  to  talk  to  me?"  responded 
Mummer,  and  popped  out  of  sight.  Two  seconds 
later  he  was  back  again  and  his  bright  little  eyes 
fairly  shone  with  mischief.  Then  before  Peter 
could  say  a  word  Mummer  burst  into  a  pleasant 
little  song.  He  was  so  full  of  happiness  that  Peter 
couldn't  be  cross  with  him. 

"There's  one  thing  I  like  about  you,  Mummer," 
declared  Peter,  "and  that  is  that  I  never  get  you 

[186] 


Three  Cousins  Quite  Unlike 

mixed  up  with  anybody  else.  I  should  know  you 
just  as  far  as  I  could  see  you  because  of  that  black 
mask  across  your  face.  Has  Mrs.  Yellow-throat 
arrived  yet?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  another  voice,  and  Mrs. 
Yellow-throat  flitted  across  right  in  front  of  Peter. 
For  just  a  second  she  sat  still,  long  enough  for  him 
to  have  one  good  look  at  her.  She  was  dressed 
very  like  Mummer  save  that  she  did  not  wear  the 
black  mask. 

Peter  was  just  about  to  say  something  polite  and 
pleasant  when  from  just  back  of  him  there  sounded 
a  loud,  very  emphatic,  "Chut!  Chut!"  Peter 
whirled  about  to  find  another  old  friend.  It  was 
Chut-Chut  the  Yellow-breasted  Chat,  the  largest 
of  the  Warbler  family.  He  was  so  much  bigger 
than  Mummer  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  that 
they  were  own  cousins.  But  Peter  knew  they 
were,  and  he  also  knew  that  he  could  never  mistake 
Chut-Chut  for  any  other  member  of  the  family 
because  of  his  big  size,  which  was  that  of  some  of 
the  members  of  the  Sparrow  family.  His  back  was 
a  dark  olive-green,  but  his  throat  and  breast  were  a 
beautiful  bright  yellow.  There  was  a  broad  white 
line  above  each  eye  and  a  little  white  line  under- 
neath.    Below  his  breast  he  was  all  white. 

To  have  seen  him  you  would  have  thought  that 
he  suspected  Peter  might  do  him  some  harm.     He 

[  187] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

acted  that  way.  If  Peter  hadn't  known  him  so  well 
he  might  have  been  offended.  But  Peter  knew 
that  there  is  no  one  among  his  feathered  friends 
more  cautious  than  Chut-Chut  the  Chat.  He  never 
takes  anything  for  granted.  He  appears  to  be 
always  on  the  watch  for  danger,  even  to  the  extent 
of  suspecting  his  very  best  friends. 

When  he  had  decided  in  his  own  mind  that 
there  was  no  danger,  Chut-Chut  came  out  for 
a  little  gossip.  But  like  all  the  rest  of  the  Warblers 
he  couldn't  keep  still.  Right  in  the  middle  of  the 
story  of  his  travels  from  far-away  Mexico  he  flew 
to  the  top  of  a  little  tree,  began  to  sing,  then  flew 
out  into  the  air  with  his  legs  dangling  and  his  tail 
wagging  up  and  down  in  the  funniest  way,  and 
there  continued  his  song  as  he  slowly  dropped  down 
into  the  thicket  again.  It  was  a  beautiful  song 
and  Peter  hastened  to  tell  him  so. 

Chut-Chut  was  pleased.  He  showed  it  by 
giving  a  little  concert  all  by  himself.  It  seemed 
to  Peter  that  he  never  had  heard  such  a  variety 
of  whistles  and  calls  and  songs  as  came  from  that 
yellow  throat.  When  it  was  over  Chut-Chut 
abruptly  said  good-by  and  disappeared.  Peter 
could  hear  his  sharp  "Chut!  Chut!"  farther  along 
in  the  thicket  as  he  hunted  for  worms  among  the 
bushes. 

"I    wonder,"    said    Peter,    speaking    out    loud 

[188] 


Three  Cousins  Quite  Unlike 

without  thinking,  "where  he  builds  his  nest.  I 
wonder  if  he  builds  it  on  the  ground,  the  way- 
Creeper  does." 

"No,"  declared  Mummer,  who  all  the  time  had 
been  darting  about  close  at  hand.  "He  doesn't, 
but  I  do.  Chut-Chut  puts  his  nest  near  the 
ground,  however,  usually  within  two  or  three 
feet.  He  builds  it  in  bushes  or  briars.  Sometimes 
if  I  can  find  a  good  tangle  of  briars  I  build  my  nest 
in  it  several  feet  from  the  ground,  but  as  a  rule 
I  would  rather  have  it  on  the  ground  under  a  bush 
or  in  a  clump  of  weeds.  Have  you  seen  my  cousin 
Sprite  the  Par^ula  Warbler,  yet?" 

"Not  yet,"  said  Peter,  as  he  started  for  home. 


[189] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

PETER    GETS   A    LAME    NECK 

For  several  ^days  it  seemed  to  Peter  Rabbit  that 
everywhere  he  went  he  found  members  of  the 
Warbler  family.  Being  anxious  to  know  all  of 
them  he  did  his  best  to  remember  how  each  one 
looked,  but  there  were  so  many  and  some  of  them 
were  dressed  so  nearly  alike  that  after  a  while 
Peter  became  so  mixed  that  he  gave  it  up  as  a 
bad  job.  Then,  as  suddenly  as  they  had  appeared, 
the  Warblers  disappeared.  That  is  to  say,  most 
of  them  disappeared.  You  see  they  had  only 
stopped  for  a  visit,  being  on  their  way  farther 
north. 

In  his  interest  in  the  affairs  of  others  of  his 
feathered  friends,  Peter  had  quite  forgotten  the 
Warblers.  Then  one  day  when  he  was  in  the 
Green  Forest  where  the  spruce-trees  grow,  he 
stopped  to  rest.  This  particular  part  of  the  Green 
Forest  was  low  and  damp,  and  on  many  of  the 
trees  gray  moss  grew,  hanging  down  from  the 
branches  and  making  the  trees  look  much  older 
than  they  really  were.  Peter  was  staring  at  a 
hanging   bunch   of   this    moss   without   thinking 

[190] 


Peter  Gets  A  Lame  Neck 

anything  about  it  when  suddenly  a  little  bird 
alighted  on  it  and  disappeared  in  it.  At  least, 
that  is  what  Peter  thought.  But  it  was  all  so 
unexpected  that  he  couldn't  be  sure  his  eyes  hadn't 
fooled  him. 

Of  course,  right  away  he  became  very  much  in- 
terested in  that  bunch  of  moss.  He  stared  at  it 
very  hard.  At  first  it  looked  no  different  from  a 
dozen  other  bunches  of  moss,  but  presently  he 
noticed  that  it  was  a  little  thicker  than  other 
bunches,  as  if  somehow  it  had  been  woven  to- 
gether. He  hopped  off  to  one  side  so  he  could  see 
better.  It  looked  as  if  in  one  side  of  that  bunch 
of  moss  was  a  little  round  hole.  Peter  blinked 
and  looked  very  hard  indeed  to  make  sure.  A 
minute  later  there  was  no  doubt  at  all,  for  a  little 
feathered  head  was  poked  out  and  a  second  later 
a  dainty  mite  of  a  bird  flew  out  and  alighted  very 
close  to  Peter.  It  was  one  of  the  smaller  members 
of  the  Warbler  family. 

"Sprite  !"  cried  Peter  joyously.  "I  missed  you 
when  your  cousins  passed  through  here,  and  I 
thought  you  had  gone  to  the  Far  North  with  the 
rest  of  them." 

"Well,  I  haven't,  and  what's  more  I'm  not  going 
to  go  on  to  the  Far  North.  I'm  going  to  stay 
right  here,"  declared  Sprite  the  Parula  Warbler, 
for  that  is  who  it  was. 

[191] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

As  Peter  looked  at  Sprite  he  couldn't  help 
thinking  that  there  wasn't  a  daintier  member  in 
the  whole  Warbler  family.  His  coat  was  of  a 
soft  bluish  color  with  a  yellowish  patch  in  the 
very  center  of  his  back.  Across  each  wing  were 
two  bars  of  white.  His  throat  was  yellow.  Just 
beneath  it  was  a  little  band  of  bluish-black.  His 
breast  was  yellow  and  his  sides  were  grayish  and 
brownish-chestnut. 

"Sprite,  you're  just  beautiful,"  declared  Peter 
in  frank  admiration.  "What  was  the  reason  I 
didn't  see  you  up  in  the  Old  Orchard  with  your 


cousins 


9" 


Because  I  wasn't  there,"  was  Sprite's  prompt 
reply  as  he  flitted  about,  quite  unable  to  sit  still  a 
minute.  "I  wasn't  there  because  I  like  the  Green 
Forest  better,  so  I  came  straight  here." 

"What  were  you  doing  just  now  in  that  bunch 
of  moss?"  demanded  Peter,  a  sudden  suspicion 
of  the  truth  popping  into  his  head. 

"Just  looking  it  over,"  replied  Sprite,  trying  to 
look  innocent. 

At  that  very  instant  Peter  looked  up  just  in 
time  to  see  a  tail  disappearing  in  the  little  round 
hole  in  the  side  of  the  bunch  of  moss.  He  knew 
that  that  tail  belonged  to  Mrs.  Sprite,  and  just 
that  glimpse  told  him  all  he  wanted  to  know. 

"You've  got  a  nest  in  there!"  Peter  exclaimed 

[  192  ] 


Peter  Gets  A  Lame  Neck 

excitedly.  "There's  no  use  denying  it,  Sprite; 
you've  got  a  nest  in  there !  What  a  perfectly 
lovely  place  for  a  nest." 

Sprite  saw  at  once  that  it  would  be  quite  use- 
less to  try  to  deceive  Peter.  "Yes,"  said  he, 
"Mrs.  Sprite  and  I  have  a  nest  in  there.  We've 
just  finished  it.  I  think  myself  it  is  rather  nice. 
We  always  build  in  moss  like  this.  All  we  have 
to  do  is  to  find  a  nice  thick  bunch  and  then  weave 
it  together  at  the  bottom  and  line  the  inside  with 
fine  grasses.  It  looks  so  much  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  bunches  of  moss  that  it  is  seldom  any  one  finds 
it.     I  wouldn't  trade  nests  with  anybody  I  know." 

"Isn't  it  rather  lonesome  over  here  by  your- 
selves?" asked  Peter. 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Sprite.  "You  see,  we  are 
not  as  much  alone  as  you  think.  My  cousin, 
Fidget  the  Myrtle  Warbler,  is  nesting  not  very  far 
away,  and  another  cousin  Weechi  the  Magnolia 
Warbler  is  also  quite  near.  Both  have  begun 
housekeeping  already." 

Of  course  Peter  was  all  excitement  and  interest 
at  once.  "Where  are  their  homes?"  he  asked 
eagerly.  "Tell  me  where  they  are  and  I'll  go 
straight  over  and  call." 

"Peter,"  said  Sprite  severely,  "you  ought  to 
know  better  than  to  ask  me  to  tell  you  anything 
of  this  kind.     You  have  been  around  enough  to 

[188] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

know  that  there  is  no  secret  so  precious  as  the 
secret  of  a  home.  You  happened  to  find  mine,  and 
I  guess  I  can  trust  you  not  to  tell  anybody  where 
it  is.  If  you  can  find  the  homes  of  Fidget  and 
Weechi,  all  right,  but  I  certainly  don't  intend  to 
tell  you  where  they  are." 

Peter  knew  that  Sprite  was  quite  right  in  refusing 
to  tell  the  secrets  of  his  cousins,  but  he  couldn't 
think  of  going  home  without  at  least  looking  for 
those  homes.  He  tried  to  look  very  innocent  as 
he  asked  if  they  also  were  in  hanging  bunches  of 
moss.  But  Sprite  was  too  smart  to  be  fooled  and 
Peter  learned  nothing  at  all. 

For  some  time  Peter  hopped  around  this  way 
and  that  way,  thinking  every  bunch  of  moss  he 
saw  must  surely  contain  a  nest.  But  though  he 
looked  and  looked  and  looked,  not  another  little 
round  hole  did  he  find,  and  there  were  so  many 
bunches  of  moss  that  finally  his  neck  ached  from 
tipping  his  head  back  so  much.  Now  Peter  hasn't 
as  much  patience  as  he  might  have,  so  after  a 
while  he  gave  up  the  search  and  started  on  his 
way  home.  On  higher  ground,  just  above  the  low 
swampy  place  where  grew  the  moss-covered  trees, 
he  came  to  a  lot  of  young  hemlock-trees.  These 
had  no  moss  on  them.  Having  given  up  his 
search  Peter  was  thinking  of  other  things  when 
there  flitted  across  in  front  of  him  a  black  and 

[194] 


Peter  Gets  A  Lame  Neck 

gray  bird  with  a  yellow  cap,  yellow  sides,  and  a 
yellow  patch  at  the  root  of  his  tail.  Those  yellow 
patches  were  all  Peter  needed  to  see  to  recognize 
Fidget  the  Myrtle  Warbler,  one  of  the  two  friends 
he  had  been  so  long  looking  for  down  among  the 
moss-covered  trees. 

.  "Oh,  Fidget!"  cried  Peter,  hurrying  after  the 
restless  little  bird.  "Oh,  Fidget !  I've  been  look- 
ing everywhere  for  you." 

"Well,  here  I  am,"  retorted  Fidget  "You 
didn't  look  everywhere  or  you  would  have  found 
me  before.  What  can  I  do  for  you?"  All  the 
time  Fidget  was  hopping  and  flitting  about,  never 
still  an  instant. 

£*  "You  can  tell  me  where  your  nest  is,"  replied 
Peter  promptly. 

"I  can,  but  I  won't,"  retorted  Fidget.  "Now 
honestly,  Peter,  do  you  think  you  have  any  busi- 
ness to  ask  such  a  question?" 

Peter  hung  his  head  and  then  replied  quite 
honestly,  "No  I  don't,  Fidget.  But  you  see 
Sprite  told  me  that  you  had  a  nest  not  very  far 
from  his  and  I've  looked  at  bunches  of  moss  until 
I've  got  a  crick  in  the  back  of  my  neck." 

"Bunches  of  moss  ! "  exclaimed  Fidget.  "  What 
under  the  sun  do  you  think  I  have  to  do  with 
bunches  of  moss  ?  " 

"Why  —  why  —  I  just  thought  you  probably 

[195] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

had  your  nest  in  one,  the  same  as  your  cousin 
Sprite." 

Fidget  laughed  right  out.  "I'm  afraid  you 
would  have  a  worse  crick  in  the  back  of  your  neck 
than  you've  got  now  before  ever  you  found  my 
nest  in  a  bunch  of  moss,"  said  he.  "Moss  may 
suit  my  cousin  Sprite,  but  it  doesn't  suit  me  at  all. 
Besides,  I  don't  like  those  dark  places  where  the 
moss  grows  on  the  trees.  I  build  my  nest  of 
twigs  and  grass  and  weed-stalks  and  I  line  it  with 
hair  and  rootlets  and  feathers.  Sometimes  I 
bind  it  together  with  spider  silk,  and  if  you  really 
want  to  know,  I  like  a  little  hemlock-tree  to  put 
it  in.  It  isn't  very  far  from  here,  but  where  it  is 
I'm  not  going  to  tell  you.  Have  you  seen  my 
cousin,  Weechi?" 

"No,"  replied  Peter.  "Is  he  anywhere  around 
here?" 

"Right  here,"  replied  another  voice  and  Weechi 
the  Magnolia  Warbler  dropped  down  on  the  ground 
for  just  a  second  right  in  front  of  Peter. 

The  top  of  his  head  and  the  back  of  his  neck  were 
gray.  Above  his  eye  was  a  white  stripe  and  his 
cheeks  were  black.  His  throat  was  clear  yellow, 
just  below  which  was  a  black  band.  From  this 
black  streaks  ran  down  across  his  yellow  breast. 
At  the  root  of  his  tail  he  was  yellow.  His  tail 
was  mostly  black  on  top  and  white  underneath. 

[196] 


Peter  Gets  A  Lame  Neck 

His  wings  were  black  and  gray  with  two  white 
bars.  He  was  a  little  smaller  than  Fidget  the 
Myrtle  Warbler  and  quite  as  restless. 

Peter  fairly  itched  to  ask  Weechi  where  his  nest 
was,  but  by  this  time  he  had  learned  a  lesson,  so 
wisely  kept  his  tongue  still. 

"What  were  you  fellows  talking  about?"  asked 
Weechi. 

"  Nests,"  replied  Fidget.  "  I've  just  been  telling 
Peter  that  while  Cousin  Sprite  may  like  to  build 
in  that  hanging  moss  down  there,  it  wouldn't 
suit  me  at  all." 

"Nor  me  either,"  declared  Weechi  promptly. 
"I  prefer  to  build  a  real  nest  just  as  you  do.  By 
the  way,  Fidget,  I  stopped  to  look  at  your  nest 
this  morning.  I  find  we  build  a  good  deal  alike 
and  we  like  the  same  sort  of  a  place  to  put  it. 
I  suppose  you  know  that  I  am  a  rather  near 
neighbor  of  yours?" 

"  Of  course  I  know  it,"  replied  Fidget.  "  In  fact 
I  watched  you  start  your  nest.  Don't  you  think 
you  have  it  rather  near  the  ground?" 

"Not  too  near,  Fidget ;  not  too  near.  I  am  not 
as  high-minded  as  some  people.  I  like  to  be 
within  two  or  three  feet  of  the  ground." 

"I  do  myself,"  replied  Fidget. 

Fidget  and  Weechi  became  so  interested  in  dis- 
cussing nests  and  the  proper  way  of  building  them 

[197] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

they  quite  forgot  Peter  Rabbit.  Peter  sat 
around  for  a  while  listening,  but  being  more  in- 
terested in  seeing  those  nests  than  hearing  about 
them,  he  finally  stole  away  to  look  for  them. 
He  looked  and  looked,  but  there  were  so  many 
young  hemlock-trees  and  they  looked  so  much 
alike  that  finally  Peter  lost  patience  and  gave  it 
up  as  a  bad  job. 


[198] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A    NEW    FRIEND    AND    AN    OLD    ONE 

Peter  Rabbit  never  will  forget  the  first  time  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Glory  the  Cardinal,  sometimes 
called  Redbird.  He  had  come  up  to  the  Old 
Orchard  for  his  usual  morning  visit  and  just  as  he 
hopped  over  the  old  stone  wall  he  heard  a  beautiful 
clear,  loud  whistle  which  drew  his  eyes  to  the  top 
of  an  apple-tree.  Peter  stopped  short  with  a  little 
gasp  of  sheer  astonishment  and  delight.  Then 
he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again.  He  couldn't 
quite  believe  that  he  saw  what  he  thought  he  saw. 
He  hadn't  supposed  that  any  one,  even  among  the 
feathered  folks,  could  be  quite  so  beautiful. 

The  stranger  was  dressed  all  in  red,  excepting  a 
little  black  around  the  base  of  his  bill.  Even  his 
bill  was  red.  He  wore  a  beautiful  red  crest  which 
made  him  still  more  distinguished  looking,  and  how 
he  could  sing  !  Peter  had  noticed  that  quite  often 
the  most  beautifully  dressed  birds  have  the  poorest 
songs.  But  this  stranger's  song  was  as  beautiful 
as  his  coat,  and  that  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful, 
if  not  the  most  beautiful,  that  Peter  ever  had  seen. 

[199] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

Of  course  he  lost  no  time  in  hunting  up  Jenny 
Wren.  "  Who  is  it,  Jenny  ?  Who  is  that  beauti- 
ful stranger  with  such  a  lovely  song  ?"  cried  Peter, 
as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  Jenny. 

"It's  Glory  the  Cardinal,"  replied  Jenny  Wren 
promptly.  "Isn't  he  the  loveliest  thing  you've 
ever  seen  ?  I  do  hope  he  is  going  to  stay  here.  As 
I  said  before,  I  don't  often  envy  any  one's  fine 
clothes,  but  when  I  see  Glory  I'm  sometimes 
tempted  to  be  envious.  If  I  were  Mrs.  Cardinal 
I'm  afraid  I  should  be  jealous.  There  she  is  in 
the  very  same  tree  with  him.  Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  difference?" 

Peter  looked  eagerly.  Instead  of  the  glorious 
red  of  Glory,  Mrs.  Cardinal  wore  a  very  dull  dress. 
Her  back  was  a  brownish-gray.  Her  throat  was 
a  grayish-black.  Her  breast  was  a  dull  buff  with 
a  faint  tinge  of  red.  Her  wings  and  tail  were 
tinged  with  dull  red.  Altogether  she  was  very 
soberly  dressed,  but  a  trim,  neat  looking  little  per- 
son. But  if  she  wasn't  handsomely  dressed  she 
could  sing.  In  fact  she  was  almost  as  good  a 
singer  as  her  handsome  husband. 

"I've  noticed,"  said  Peter,  "that  people  with 
fine  clothes  spend  most  of  their  time  thinking 
about  them  and  are  of  very  little  use  when  it  comes 
to  real  work  in  life." 

"Well,  you  needn't  think  that  of  Glory,"  declared 

[£00] 


GLORY    THE  CARDINAL.     He  is  often  called  Redbird.     You  cannot  mis- 
take him. 

KITTY     THE     CATBIRD.       His  biack  crown  and  slaty-gray  coat  make   him 
easy  to  recognize. 


A  New  Friend  and  An  Old  One 

Jenny  in  her  vigorous  way.  "He's  just  as  fine  as 
he  is  handsome.  He's  a  model  husband.  If  they 
make  their  home  around  here  you'll  find  him  doing 
his  full  share  in  the  care  of  their  babies.  Sometimes 
they  raise  two  families.  When  they  do  that, 
Glory  takes  charge  of  the  first  lot  of  youngsters  as 
soon  as  they  are  able  to  leave  the  nest  so  that  Mrs. 
Cardinal  has  nothing  to  worry  about  while  she 
is  sitting  on  the  second  lot  of  eggs.  He  fusses  over 
them  as  if  they  were  the  only  children  in  the  world. 
Everybody  loves  Glory.  Excuse  me,  Peter,  I'm 
going  over  to  find  out  if  they  are  really  going  to 
stay." 

When  Jenny  returned  she  was  so  excited  she 
couldn't  keep  still  a  minute.  "They  like  here, 
Peter !"  she  cried.  "They  like  here  so  much  that 
if  they  can  find  a  place  to  suit  them  for  a  nest 
they're  going  to  stay.  I  told  them  that  it  is  the 
very  best  place  in  the  world.  They  like  an  evergreen 
tree  to  build  in,  and  I  think  they've  got  their  eyes 
on  those  evergreens  up  near  Farmer  Brown's  house. 
My,  they  will  add  a  lot  to  the  quality  of  this  neigh- 
borhood." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardinal  whistled  and  sang  as  if 
their  hearts  were  bursting  with  joy,  and  Peter  sat 
around  listening  as  if  he  had  nothing  else  in  the 
world  to  do.  Probably  he  would  have  sat  there  the 
rest  of  the  morning  had  he  not  caught  sight  of  an 

[201  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

old  friend  of  whom  he  is  very  fond,  Kitty  the  Cat- 
bird. In  contrast  with  Glory,  Kitty  seemed  a  reg- 
ular little  Quaker,  for  he  was  dressed  almost  wholly 
in  gray,  a  rather  dark,  slaty-gray.  The  top  of 
his  head  and  tail  were  black,  and  right  at  the  base 
of  his  tail  was  a  patch  of  chestnut  color.  He  was 
a  little  smaller  than  Welcome  Robin.  There  was 
no  danger  of  mistaking  him  for  anybody  else,  for 
there  is  no  one  dressed  at  all  like  him. 

Peter  forgot  all  about  Glory  in  his  pleasure  at 
discovering  the  returned  Kitty  and  hurried  over  to 
welcome  him.  Kitty  had  disappeared  among  the 
bushes  along  the  old  stone  wall,  but  Peter  had  no 
trouble  in  finding  him  by  the  queer  cries  he  was 
uttering,  which  were  very  like  the  meow  of  Black 
Pussy  the  Cat.  They  were  very  harsh  and  un- 
pleasant and  Peter  understood  perfectly  why  their 
maker  is  called  the  Catbird.  He  did  not  hurry  in 
among  the  bushes  at  once  but  waited  expectantly. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  harsh  cries  ceased  and  then 
there  came  from  the  very  same  place  a  song  which 
seemed  to  be  made  up  of  parts  of  the  songs  of  all 
the  other  birds  of  the  Old  Orchard.  It  was  not 
loud,  but  it  was  charming.  It  contained  the 
clear  whistle  of  Glory,  and  there  was  even  the  tinkle 
of  Little  Friend  the  Song  Sparrow.  The  notes  of 
other  friends  were  in  that  song,  and  with  them  were 
notes  of  southern  birds  whose  songs  Kitty  had 

[202] 


A  New  Friend  and  An  Old  One 

learned  while  spending  the  winter  in  the  South. 
Then  there  were  notes  all  his  own. 

Peter  listened  until  the  song  ended,  then  scam- 
pered in  among  the  bushes.  At  once  those  harsh 
cries  broke  out  again.  You  would  have  thought 
that  Kitty  was  scolding  Peter  for  coming  to  see 
him  instead  of  being  glad.  But  that  was  just 
Kitty's  way.  He  is  simply  brimming  over  with 
fun  and  mischief,  and  delights  to  pretend. 

When  Peter  found  him,  he  was  sitting  with  all 
his  feathers  puffed  out  until  he  looked  almost  like  a 
ball  with  a  head  and  tail.  He  looked  positively 
sleepy.  Then  as  he  caught  sight  of  Peter  he  drew 
those  feathers  down  tight,  cocked  his  tail  up  after 
the  manner  of  Jenny  Wren,  and  was  as  slim  and 
trim  looking  as  any  bird  of  Peter's  acquaintance. 
He  didn't  look  at  all  like  the  same  bird  of  the 
moment  before.  Then  he  dropped  his  tail  as  if  he 
hadn't  strength  enough  to  hold  it  up  at  all.  It 
hung  straight  down.  He  dropped  his  wings  and  all 
in  a  second  made  himself  look  fairly  disreputa- 
ble. But  all  the  time  his  eyes  were  twinkling  and 
snapping,  and  Peter  knew  that  these  changes  in 
appearance  were  made  out  of  pure  fun  and 
mischief. 

"I've  been  wondering  if  you  were  coming  back," 
cried  Peter.  "I  don't  know  of  any  one  of  my 
feathered  friends  I  would  miss  so  much  as  you." 

[203] 


((I 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

Thank  you,"  responded  Kitty.  "It's  very 
nice  of  you  to  say  that,  Peter.  If  you  are  glad  to 
see  me  I  am  still  more  glad  to  get  back." 

"Did  you  pass  a  pleasant  winter  down  South?" 
asked  Peter. 

"Fairly  so.  Fairly  so,"  replied  Kitty.  "By 
the  way,  Peter,  I  picked  up  some  new  songs  down 
there.     Would  you  like  to  hear  them  ?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Peter,  "but  I  don't  think 
you  need  any  new  songs.  I've  never  seen  such  a 
fellow  for  picking  up  other  people's  songs  excepting 
Mocker  the  Mockingbird." 

At  the  mention  of  Mocker  a  little  cloud  crossed 
Kitty's  face  for  just  an  instant.  "There's  a  fellow 
I  really  envy,"  said  he.  "I'm  pretty  good  at 
imitating  others,  but  Mocker  is  better.  I'm  hop- 
ing that,  if  I  practice  enough,  some  day  I  can  be 
as  good.  I  saw  a  lot  of  him  in  the  South  and  he 
certainly  is  clever." 

"Huh  !  You  don't  need  to  envy  him,"  retorted 
Peter.  "You  are  some  imitator  yourself.  How 
about  those  new  notes  you  got  when  you  were  in 
the  South  ?" 

Kitty's  face  cleared,  his  throat  swelled  and  he 
began  to  sing.  It  was  a  regular  medley.  It  didn't 
seem  as  if  so  many  notes  could  come  from  one 
throat.  When  it  ended  Peter  had  a  question  all 
ready. 

[S04] 


A  New  Friend  and  An  Old  One 

"Are  you  going  to  build  somewhere  near  here?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  certainly  am,"  replied  Kitty.  "  Mrs.  Catbird 
was  delayed  a  day  or  two.  I  hope  she'll  get  here 
to-day  and  then  we'll  get  busy  at  once.  I  think  we 
shall  build  in  these  bushes  here  somewhere.  I'm 
glad  Farmer  Brown  has  sense  enough  to  let  them 
grow.  They  are  just  the  kind  of  a  place  I  like  for  a 
nest.  They  are  near  enough  to  Farmer  Brown's 
garden,  and  the  Old  Orchard  is  right  here.  That's 
just  the  kind  of  a  combination  that  suits  me." 

Peter  looked  somewhat  uncertain.  "Why  do 
you  want  to  be  near  Farmer  Brown's  garden?"  he 
asked. 

"Because  that  is  where  I  will  get  a  good  part  of 
my  living,"  Kitty  responded  promptly.  "He 
ought  to  be  glad  to  have  me  about.  Once  in  a 
while  I  take  a  little  fruit,  but!  pay  for  it  ten  times 
over  by  the  number  of  bugs  and  worms  I  get  in  his 
garden  and  the  Old  Orchard.  I  pride  myself  on 
being  useful.  There's  nothing  like  being  useful 
in  this  world,  Peter." 

Peter  nodded  as  if  he  quite  agreed.  Though,  as 
you  know  and  I  know,  Peter  himself  does  very 
little  except  fill  his  own  big  stomach. 


[205] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

PETER    SEES    ROSEBREAST    AND    FINDS    REDCOAT 

"Who's  that?"  Peter  Rabbit  pricked  up  his 
long  ears  and  stared  up  at  the  tops  of  the  trees  of 
the  Old  Orchard. 

Instantly  Jenny  Wren  popped  her  head  out  of  her 
doorway.  She  cocked  her  head  on  one  side  to 
listen,  then  looked  down  at  Peter,  and  her  sharp 
little  eyes  snapped. 

" I  don't  hear  any  strange  voice,"  said  she.  "The 
way  you  are  staring,  Peter  Rabbit,  one  would  think 
that  you  had  really  heard  something  new  and  worth 
while." 

Just  then  there  were  two  or  three  rather  sharp, 
squeaky  notes  from  the  top  of  one  of  the  trees. 
"There  !"  cried  Peter.  "There!  Didn't  you  hear 
that,  Jenny  Wren?" 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Peter  Rabbit,  you  don't 
mean  to  say  you  don't  know  whose  voice  that  is," 
she  cried.  "That's  Rosebreast.  He  and  Mrs. 
Rosebreast  have  been  here  for  quite  a  little  while.  I 
didn't  suppose  there  was  any  one  who  didn't  know 
those  sharp,  squeaky  voices.  They  rather  get  on 
my  nerves.     What  anybody  wants  to  squeak  like 

[  206  ] 


Peter  Sees  Rosebreast  and  Finds  Redcoat 

that  for  when  they  can  sing  as  Rosebreast  can,  is 
more  than  I  can  understand." 

At  that  very  instant  Mr.  Wren  began  to  scold  as 
only  he  and  Jenny  can.  Peter  looked  up  at  Jenny 
and  winked  slyly.  "And  what  anybody  wants  to 
scold  like  that  for  when  they  can  sing  as  Mr. 
Wren  can,  is  too  much  for  me,"  retorted  Peter. 
"But  you  haven't  told  me  who  Rosebreast  is." 

"The  Grosbeak,  of  course,  stupid,"  sputtered 
Jenny.  "If  you  don't  know  Rosebreast  the  Gros- 
beak, Peter  Rabbit,  you  certainly  must  have  been 
blind  and  deaf  ever  since  you  were  born.  Listen 
to  that !     Just  listen  to  that  song  !" 

Peter  listened.  There  were  many  songs,  for  it 
was  a  very  beautiful  morning  and  all  the  singers  of 
the  Old  Orchard  were  pouring  out  the  joy  that  was 
within  them.  One  song  was  a  little  louder  and 
clearer  than  the  others  because  it  came  from  a  tree 
very  close  at  hand,  the  very  tree  from  which  those 
squeaky  notes  had  come  just  a  few  minutes  before. 
Peter  suspected  that  that  must  be  the  song  Jenny 
Wren  meant.  He  looked  puzzled.  He  was  puz- 
zled. "Do  you  mean  Welcome  Robin's  song?"  he 
asked  rather  sheepishly,  for  he  had  a  feeling  that  he 
would  be  the  victim  of  Jenny  Wren's  sharp  tongue. 

"No,  I  don't  mean  Welcome  Robin's  song," 
snapped  Jenny.  'What  good  are  a  pair  of  long 
ears  if  they  can't  tell  one  song  from  another  ?   That 

[  207  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

song  may  sound  something  like  Welcome  Robin's, 
but  if  your  ears  were  good  for  anything  at  all  you'd 
know  right  away  that  that  isn't  Welcome  Robin 
singing.  That's  a  better  song  than  Welcome 
Robin's.  Welcome  Robin's  song  is  one  of  good 
cheer,  but  this  one  is  of  pure  happiness.  I  wouldn't 
have  a  pair  of  ears  like  yours  for  anything  in  the 
world,  Peter  Rabbit." 

Peter  laughed  right  out  as  he  tried  to  picture  to 
himself  Jenny  Wren  with  a  pair  of  long  ears  like  his. 
'What  are  you  laughing  at?"  demanded  Jenny 
crossly.  "  Don't  you  dare  laugh  at  me  !  If  there  is 
any  one  thing  I  can't  stand  it  is  being  laughed 
at." 

"I  wasn't  laughing  at  you,"  replied  Peter  very 
meekly.  "I  was  just  laughing  at  the  thought  of 
how  funny  you  would  look  with  a  pair  of  long  ears 
like  mine.  Now  you  speak  of  it,  Jenny,  that  song 
is  quite  different  from  Welcome  Robin's." 

"Of  course  it  is,"  retorted  Jenny.  "That  is 
Rosebreast  singing  up  there,  and  there  he  is  right 
in  the  top  of  that  tree.     Isn't  he  handsome?" 

Peter  looked  up  to  see  a  bird  a  little  smaller  than 
Welcome  Robin.  His  head,  throat  and  back  were 
black.  His  wings  were  black  with  patches  of  white 
on  them.  But  it  was  his  breast  that  made  Peter 
catch  his  breath  with  a  little  gasp  of  admiration, 
for  that  breast  was  a  beautiful  rose-red.    The  rest 

[208] 


Peter  Sees  Rosebreast  and  Finds  Redcoat 

of  him  underneath  was  white.  It  was  Rosebreast 
the  Grosbeak. 

"Isn't  he  lovely!"  cried  Peter,  and  added  in 
the  next  breath,  "Who  is  that  with  him?" 

"Mrs.  Grosbeak,  of  course.  Who  else  would  it 
be?"  sputtered  Jenny  rather  crossly,  for  she  was 
still  a  little  put  out  because  she  had  been  laughed 
at. 

"I  would  never  have  guessed  it,"  said  Peter. 
"She  doesn't  look  the  least  bit  like  him." 

This  was  quite  true.  There  was  no  beautiful 
rose  color  about  Mrs.  Grosbeak.  She  was  dressed 
chiefly  in  brown  and  grayish  colors  with  a  little 
buff  here  and  there  and  with  dark  streaks  on  her 
breast.  Over  each  eye  was  a  whitish  line.  Al- 
together she  looked  more  as  if  she  might  be  a  big 
member  of  the  Sparrow  family  than  the  wife  of 
handsome  Rosebreast.  While  Rosebreast  sang, 
Mrs.  Grosbeak  was  verj^  busily  picking  buds  and 
blossoms  from  the  tree. 

"What  is  she  doing  that  for?"  inquired  Peter. 

"For  the  same  reason  that  you  bite  off  sweet 
clover  blossoms  and  leaves,"  replied  Jenny  Wren 
tartly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  live  on  buds 
and  blossoms?"  cried  Peter.  "I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut !    You  can  ask  more  silly 

[209 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

questions  than  anybody  of  my  acquaintance," 
retorted  Jenny  Wren.  "Of  course  they  don't  live 
on  buds  and  blossoms.  If  they  did  they  would 
soon  starve  to  death,  for  buds  and  blossoms  don't 
last  long.  They  eat  a  few  just  for  variety,  but  they 
live  mostly  on  bugs  and  insects.  You  ask  Farmer 
Brown's  boy  who  helps  him  most  in  his  potato 
patch,  and  he'll  tell  you  it's  the  Grosbeaks.  They 
certainly  do  love  potato  bugs.  They  eat  some 
fruit,  but  on  the  whole  they  are  about  as  useful 
around  a  garden  as  any  one  I  know.  Now  run 
along,  Peter  Rabbit,  and  don't  bother  me  any 
more." 

Seeing  Farmer  Brown's  boy  coming  through  the 
Old  Orchard  Peter  decided  that  it  was  high  time  for 
him  to  depart.  So  he  scampered  for  the  Green 
Forest,  lipperty-lipperty-lip.  Just  within  the  edge 
of  the  Green  Forest  he  caught  sight  of  something 
which  for  the  time  being  put  all  thought  of  Farmer 
Brown's  boy  out  of  his  head.  Fluttering  on  the 
ground  was  a  bird  than  whom  not  even  Glory  the 
Cardinal  was  more  beautiful.  It  was  about  the 
size  of  Redwing  the  Blackbird.  Wings  and  tail 
were  pure  black  and  all  the  rest  was  a  beautiful 
scarlet.  It  was  Redcoat  the  Tanager.  At  first 
Peter  had  eyes  only  for  the  wonderful  beauty  of 
Redcoat.  Never  before  had  he  seen  Redcoat  so 
close  at  hand.     Then  quite  suddenly  it  came  over 

[210] 


REDCOAT  THE  SCARLET  TANAGER.  He  is  all  red  save  his  black 
wings  and  tail. 

ROSEBREAST  THE  GROSBEAK.  You  cannot  mistake  this  black  and 
white  bird  with  the  rose-colored  breast  for  any  one  else.  It  is  the  Rose, 
breasted  Grosbeak. 


Peter  Sees  Rosebreast  and  Finds  Redcoat 

Peter  that  something  was  wrong  with  Redcoat, 
and  he  hurried  forward  to  see  what  the  trouble 
might  be. 

"  Redcoat  heard  the  rustle  of  Peter's  feet  among 
the  dry  leaves  and  at  once  began  to  flap  and  flutter 
in  an  effort  to  fly  away,  but  he  could  not  get  off  the 
ground.  "What  is  it,  Redcoat?  Has  something 
happened  to  you  ?  It  is  just  Peter  Rabbit.  You 
don't  have  anything  to  fear  from  me,"  cried  Peter. 

The  look  of  terror  which  had  been  in  the  eyes  of 
Redcoat  died  out,  and  he  stopped  fluttering  and 
simply  lay  panting. 

"Oh,  Peter,"  he  gasped,  "you  don't  know  how 
glad  I  am  that  it  is  only  you.  I've  had  a  terrible 
accident,  and  I  don't  know  what  I  am  to  do.  I 
can't  fly,  and  if  I  have  to  stay  on  the  ground  some 
enemy  will  be  sure  to  get  me.  What  shall  I  do, 
Peter?     What  shall  I  do ?" 

Right  away  Peter  was  full  of  sympathy.  "  What 
kind  of  an  accident  was  it,  Redcoat,  and  how  did 
it  happen  ?"  he  asked. 

"Broadwing  the  Hawk  tried  to  catch  me," 
sobbed  Redcoat.  "In  dodging  him  among  the 
trees  I  was  heedless  for  a  moment  and  did  not  see 
just  where  I  was  going.  I  struck  a  sharp-pointed 
dead  twig  and  drove  it  right  through  my  right 
wing." 

Redcoat  held  up  his  right  wing  and  sure  enough 

[211] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

there  was  a  little  stick  projecting  from  both  sides 
close  up  to  the  shoulder.  The  wing  was  bleeding 
a  little. 

"Oh,  dear,  whatever  shall  I  do,  Peter  Rabbit? 
Whatever  shall  I  do  ?"  sobbed  Redcoat. 

"Does  it  pain  you  dreadfully  ?"  asked  Peter. 

Redcoat  nodded.  "But  I  don't  mind  the  pain," 
he  hastened  to  say.  "It  is  the  thought  of  what 
may  happen  to  me." 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Tanager  was  flying  about  in 
the  tree  tops  near  at  hand  and  calling  anxiously. 
She  was  dressed  almost  wholly  in  light  olive-green 
and  greenish-yellow.  She  looked  no  more  like 
beautiful  Redcoat  than  did  Mrs.  Grosbeak  like 
Rosebreast. 

"Can't  you  fly  up  just  a  little  way  so  as  to  get 
off  the  ground?"  she  cried  anxiously.  "Isn't  it 
dreadful,  Peter  Rabbit,  to  have  such  an  accident  ? 
We've  just  got  our  nest  half  built,  and  I  don't 
know  what  I  shall  do  if  anything  happens  to  Red- 
coat. Oh,  dear,  here  comes  somebody !  Hide, 
Redcoat !  Hide  !"  Mrs.  Tanager  flew  off  a  short 
distance  to  one  side  and  began  to  cry  as  if  in  the 
greatest  distress.  Peter  knew  instantly  that  she 
was  crying  to  get  the  attention  of  whoever  was 
coming. 

Poor  Redcoat,  with  the  old  look  of  terror  in  his 
eyes,  fluttered  along,  trying  to  find  something  under 

[212] 


Peter  Sees  Rosebreast  and  Finds  Redcoat 

which  to  hide.  But  there  was  nothing  under  which 
he  could  crawl,  and  there  was  no  hiding  that  won- 
derful red  coat.  Peter  heard  the  sound  of  heavy 
footsteps,  and  looking  back,  saw  that  Farmer 
Brown's  boy  was  corning.  "Don't  be  afraid, 
Redcoat,"  he  whispered.  "It's  Farmer  Brown's 
boy  and  I'm  sure  he  won't  hurt  you.  Perhaps  he 
can  help  you."  Then  Peter  scampered  off  for  a 
short  distance  and  sat  up  to  watch  what  would 
happen. 

Of  course  Farmer  Brown's  boy  saw  Redcoat. 
No  one  with  any  eyes  at  all  could  have  helped  seeing 
him,  because  of  that  wonderful  scarlet  coat.  He 
saw,  too,  by  the  way  Redcoat  was  acting,  that  he 
was  in  great  trouble.  As  Farmer  Brown's  boy 
drew  near  and  Redcoat  saw  that  he  was  discovered, 
he  tried  his  hardest  to  flutter  away.  Farmer 
Brown's  boy  understood  instantly  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  with  one  wing,  and  running  for- 
ward, he  caught  Redcoat. 

'You  poor  little  thing.  You  poor,  beautiful 
little  creature,"  said  Farmer  Brown's  boy  softly 
as  he  saw  the  cruel  twig  sticking  through  Red- 
coats' shoulder.  "We'll  have  to  get  that  out  right 
away,"  continued  Farmer  Brown's  boy,  stroking 
Redcoat  ever  so  gently. 

Somehow  at  that  gentle  touch  Redcoat  lost  much 
of  his  fear,  and  a  little  hope  sprang  in  his  heart. 

[213] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

This  was  no  enemy,  but  a  friend.  Farmer  Brown's 
boy  took  out  his  knife  and  carefully  cut  off  the  twig 
on  the  upper  side  of  the  wing.  Then,  doing  his 
best  to  be  careful  and  to  hurt  as  little  as  possible, 
he  worked  the  other  part  of  the  twig  out  from  the 
under  side.  Carefully  he  examined  the  wing  to 
see  if  any  bones  were  broken.  None  were,  and 
after  holding  Redcoat  a  few  minutes  he  carefully 
set  him  up  in  a  tree  and  withdrew  a  short  distance. 
Redcoat  hopped  from  branch  to  branch  until  he 
was  halfway  up  the  tree.  Then  he  sat  there  for 
some  time  as  if  fearful  of  trying  that  injured  wing. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  Tanager  came  and  fussed  about 
him  and  talked  to  him  and  coaxed  him  and  made  as 
much  of  him  as  if  he  were  a  baby. 

Peter  remained  right  where  he  was  until  at  last 
he  saw  Redcoat  spread  his  black  wings  and  fly  to 
another  tree.  From  tree  to  tree  he  flew,  resting 
a  bit  in  each  until  he  and  Mrs.  Tanager  disappeared 
in  the  Green  Forest. 

"I  knew  Farmer  Brown's  boy  would  help  him, 
and  I'm  so  glad  he  found  him,"  cried  Peter  happily 
and  started  for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch. 


[214] 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE    CONSTANT    SINGERS 

Over  in  a  maple-tree  on  the  edge  of  Farmer 
Brown's  door  yard  lived  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Redeye  the 
Vireos.  Peter  Rabbit  knew  that  they  had  a  nest 
there  because  Jenny  Wren  had  told  him  so.  He 
would  have  guessed  it  anyway,  because  Redeye 
spent  so  much  time  in  that  tree  during  the  nesting 
season.  No  matter  what  hour  of  the  day  Peter 
visited  the  Old  Orchard  he  heard  Redeye  singing 
over  in  the  maple-tree.  Peter  used  to  think  that 
if  song  is  an  expression  of  happiness,  Redeye  must 
be  the  happiest  of  all  birds. 

He  was  a  little  fellow  about  the  size  of  one  of 
the  larger  Warblers  and  quite  as  modestly  dressed 
as  any  of  Peter's  acquaintances.  The  crown  of 
his  head  was  gray  with  a  little  blackish  border  on 
either  side.  Over  each  eye  was  a  white  line. 
Underneath  he  was  white.  For  the  rest  he  was 
dressed  in  light  olive-green.  The  first  time  he 
came  down  near  enough  for  Peter  to  see  him  well 
Peter  understood  at  once  why  he  is  called  Redeye. 
His  eyes  were  red.     Yes,  sir,  his  eyes  were  red, 

[215] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

and  this  fact  alone  was  enough  to  distinguish  him 
from  any  other  members  of  his  family. 

But  it  wasn't  often  that  Redeye  came  down  so 
near  the  ground  that  Peter  could  see  his  eyes. 
He  preferred  to  spend  most  of  his  time  in  the 
tree  tops,  and  Peter  only  got  glimpses  of  him  now 
and  then.  But  if  he  didn't  see  him  often  it  was 
less  often  that  he  failed  to  hear  him.  "I  don't 
see  when  Redeye  finds  time  to  eat,"  declared  Peter 
as  he  listened  to  the  seemingly  unending  song  in  the 
maple-tree. 

"Redeye  believes  in  singing  while  he  works," 
said  Jenny  Wren.  "For  my  part  I  should  think 
he'd  wear  his  throat  out.  When  other  birds  sing 
they  don't  do  anything  else,  but  Redeye  sings  all 
the  time  he  is  hunting  his  meals  and  only  stops 
long  enough  to  swallow  a  worm  or  a  bug  when  he 
finds  it.  Just  as  soon  as  it  is  down  he  begins  to 
sing  again  while  he  hunts  for  another.  I  must  say 
for  the  Redeyes  that  they  are  mighty  good  nest 
builders.  Have  you  seen  their  nest  over  in  that 
maple-tree,  Peter  ?" 

Peter  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  dare  go  over 
there  except  very  early  in  the  morning  before 
Farmer  Brown's  folks  are  awake,"  said  he,  "so  I 
haven't  had  much  chance  to  look  for  it." 

"You  probably  couldn't  see  it,  anyway,"  de- 
clared Jenny  Wren.     "They  have  placed  it  rather 

[216] 


LThe  Constant  Singers 

high  up  from  the  ground  and  those  leaves  are  so 
thick  that  they  hide  it.  It's  a  regular  little  basket 
fastened  in  a  fork  near  the  end  of  a  branch  and  it 
is  woven  almost  as  nicely  as  is  the  nest  of  Goldy 
the  Oriole.  How  anybody  has  the  patience  to 
weave  a  nest  like  that  is  beyond  me." 

"What's  it  made  of?"  asked  Peter. 

"Strips  of  bark,  plant  down,  spider's  web,  grass, 
and  pieces  of  paper!"  replied  Jenny.  "That's  a 
funny  thing  about  Redeye ;  he  dearly  loves  a  piece 
of  paper  in  his  nest.  What  for,  I  can't  imagine. 
He's  as  fussy  about  having  a  scrap  of  paper  as 
Cresty  the  Flycatcher  is  about  having  a  piece  of 
Snakeskin.  I  had  just  a  peep  into  that  nest  a  few 
days  ago  and  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken  Sally  Sly 
the  Cowbird  has  managed  to  impose  on  the  Red- 
eyes. I  am  certain  I  saw  one  of  her  eggs  in  that 
nest." 

A  few  mornings  after  this  talk  with  Jenny  Wren 
about  Redeye  the  Vireo  Peter  once  more  visited 
the  Old  Orchard.  No  sooner  did  he  come  in  sight 
than  Jenny  Wren's  tongue  began  to  fly.  "What 
did  I  tell  you,  Peter  Rabbit?  What  did  I  tell 
you  ?     I  knew  it  was  so,  and  it  is  !"  cried  Jenny. 

"What  is  so  ?  "  asked  Peter  rather  testily,  for  he 
hadn't  the  least  idea  what  Jenny  Wren  was  talking 
about. 

"Sally  Sly  did  lay  an  egg  in  Redeye's  nest,  and 

[217] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

now  it  has  hatched  and  I  don't  know  whatever  is 
to  become  of  Redeye's  own  children.  It's  perfectly 
scandalous  !  That's  what  it  is,  perfectly  scandal- 
ous !"  cried  Jenny,  and  hopped  about  and  jerked 
her  tail  and  worked  herself  into  a  small  brown 
fury. 

"The  Redeyes  are  working  themselves  to  feath- 
ers and  bone  feeding  that  ugly  young  Cowbird 
while  their  own  babies  aren't  getting  half  enough 
to  eat,"  continued  Jenny.  "One  of  them  has  died 
already.  He  was  kicked  out  of  the  nest  by  that 
young  brute." 

"How  dreadful !"  cried  Peter.  "  If  he  does  things 
like  that  I  should  think  the  Redeyes  would  throw 
him  out  of  the  nest." 

They're  too  soft-hearted,"  declared  Jenny. 
I  can  tell  you  I  wouldn't  be  so  soft-hearted  if  I 
were  in  their  place.  No,  sir-ee,  I  wouldn't !  But 
they  say  it  isn't  his  fault  that  he's  there,  and  that 
he's  nothing  but  a  helpless  baby,  and  so  they  just 
take  care  of  him." 

"Then  why  don't  they  feed  their  own  babies 
first  and  give  him  what's  left  ?"  demanded  Peter. 

"Because  he's  twice  as  big  as  any  of  their  own 
babies  and  so  strong  and  greedy  that  he  simply 
snatches  the  food  out  of  the  very  mouths  of  the 
others.  Because  he  gets  most  of  the  food,  he's 
growing  twice  as  fast  as  they  are.     I  wouldn't  be 

[218] 


The  Constant  Singers 

surprised  if  he  kicks  all  the  rest  of  them  out  before 
he  gets  through.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Redeye  are  dread- 
fully distressed  about  it,  but  they  will  feed  him 
because  they  say  it  isn't  his  fault.  It's  a  dreadful 
affair  and  the  talk  of  the  whole  Orchard.  I  sup- 
pose his  mother  is  off  gadding  somewhere,  having  a 
goad  time  and  not  caring  a  flip  of  her  tail  feathers 
what  becomes  of  him.  I  believe  in  being  good- 
hearted,  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as  overdoing  the 
matter.  Thank  goodness  I'm  not  so  weak-minded 
that  I  can  be  imposed  on  in  any  such  way  as 
that." 

"Speaking  of  the  Vireos,  Redeye  seems  to  be  the 
only  member  of  his  family  around  here,"  remarked 
Peter. 

"Listen!"  commanded  Jenny  Wren.  "Don't 
you  hear  that  warbling  song  'way  over  in  the  big 
elm  in  front  of  Farmer  Brown's  house  where  Goldy 
the  oriole  has  his  nest  ?" 

Peter  listened.  At  first  he  didn't  hear  it,  and 
as  usual  Jenny  Wren  made  fun  of  him  for  having 
such  big  ears  and  not  being  able  to  make  better 
use  of  them.  Presently  he  did  hear  it.  The  voice 
was  not  unlike  that  of  Redeye,  but  the  song  was 
smoother,  more  continuous  and  sweeter.  Peter's 
face  lighted  up.     "I  hear  it,"  he  cried. 

"That's  Redeye's  cousin,  the  Warbling  Vireo," 
said  Jenny.     "He's  a  better  singer  than  Redeye 

[219] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

and  just  as  fond  of  hearing  his  own  voice.  He 
sings  from  the  time  jolly  Mr.  Sun  gets  up  in  the 
morning  until  he  goes  to  bed  at  night.  He  sings 
when  it  is  so  hot  that  the  rest  of  us  are  glad  to  keep 
still  for  comfort's  sake.  I  don't  know  of  anybody 
more  fond  of  the  tree  tops  than  he  is.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  care  anything  about  the  Old  Orchard,  but 
stays  over  in  those  big  trees  along  the  road.  He's 
got  a  nest  over  in  that  big  elm  and  it  is  as  high  up 
as  that  of  Goldy  the  Oriole.  I  haven't  seen  it 
myself,  but  Goldy  told  me  about  it.  Why  any  one 
so  small  should  want  to  live  so  high  up  in  the  world 
I  don't  know,  any  more  than  I  know  why  any  one 
wants  to  live  anywhere  but  in  the  Old  Orchard." 

"  Somehow  I  don't  remember  just  what  Warble 
looks  like,"  Peter  confessed. 

"He  looks  a  lot  like  his  cousin,  Redeye,"  replied 
Jenny.  "His  coat  is  a  little  duller  olive-green  and 
underneath  he  is  a  little  bit  yellowish  instead  of  be- 
ing white.  Of  course  he  doesn't  have  red  eyes,  and 
he  is  a  little  smaller  than  Redeye.  The  whole  fam- 
ily looks  pretty  much^aiike  anyway." 

"You  said  something  then,  Jenny  Wren,"  de- 
clared Peter^^They  get  me  all  mixed  up.  If  only 
some  of  them  had  some  bright  colors  it  would  be 
easier  to  tell  them  apart." 

"One  has,"  replied  Jenny  Wren.  "He  has  a 
bright  yellow  throat  and  breast  and  is  called  the 

[220] 


The  Constant  Singers 

Yellow-throated  Vireo.  There  isn't  the  least 
chance  of  mistaking  him." 

"Is  he  a  singer,  too  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"Of  course,"  replied  Jenny.  "Every  one  of 
that  blessed  family  loves  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice.  It's  a  family  trait.  Sometimes  it  just 
makes  my  throat  sore  to  listen  to  them  all  day  long. 
A  good  thing  is  good,  but  more  than  enough  of  a 
good  thing  is  too  much.  That  applies  to  gossiping 
just  as  well  as  to  singing  and  I've  wasted  more  time 
on  you  than  I've  any  business  to.  Now  hop  along, 
Peter,  and  don't  bother  me  any  more  to-day." 

Peter  hopped. 


[Ml] 


"   CHAPTER  XXX 

JENNY   WREN'S    COUSINS 

Peter  Rabbit  never  will  forget  his  surprise 
when  Jenny  Wren  asked  him  one  spring  morning  if 
he  had  seen  anything  of  her  big  cousin.  Peter 
hesitated.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  couldn't  think 
of  any  big  cousin  of  Jenny  Wren.  All  the  cousins 
he  knew  anything  about  were  very  nearly  Jenny's 
own  size. 

Now  Jenny  Wren  is  one  of  the  most  impatient 
small  persons  in  the  world.  "Well,  well,  well, 
Peter,  have  you  lost  your  tongue  ?"  she  chattered. 
"  Can't  you  answer  a  simple  question  without  tak- 
ing all  day  about  it  ?  Have  you  seen  anything  of 
my  big  cousin  ?     It  is  high  time  for  him  to  be  here." 

"You  needn't  be  so  cross  about  it  if  I  am  slow," 
replied  Peter.  "I'm  just  trying  to  think  who  your 
big  cousin  is.  I  guess,  to  be  quite  honest,  I  don't 
know  him." 

"Don't  know  him  !  Don't  know  him  !"  sputtered 
Jenny.  "Of  course  you  know  him.  You  can't 
help  but  know  him.    I  mean  Brownie  the  Thrasher." 

In  his  surprise  Peter  fairly  jumped  right  off  the 


■a.-.S'i  . 


BROWNIE    THE    THRASHER.      You    cannot    mistake    him    because    of    his 
bright  reddish-brown  coat,  long  tail  and  spotted  breast. 

CHEWINK    THE    TOWHEE.      He    is    black    and    white   with   reddish-brown 
sides,  usually  on  the  ground  in  a  thicket. 


Jenny  Wren's  Cousins 

ground.  ''What's  that?"  he  exclaimed.  "Since 
when  was  Brownie  the  Thrasher  related  to  the 
Wren  family?" 

"Ever  since  there  have  been  any  Wrens  and 
Thrashers,"  retorted  Jenny.  "Brownie  belongs  to 
one  branch  of  the  family  and  I  belong  to  another, 
and  that  makes  him  my  second  cousin.  It  cer- 
tainly is  surprising  how  little  some  folks  know." 

"But  I  have  always  supposed  he  belonged  to  the 
Thrush  family,"  protested  Peter.  "He  certainly 
looks  like  a  Thrush." 

"Looking  like  one  doesn't  make  him  one," 
snapped  Jenny.  "By  this  time  you  ought  to  have 
learned  that  you  never  can  judge  anybody  just  by 
looks.  It  always  makes  me  provoked  to  hear 
Brownie  called  the  Brown  Thrush.  There  isn't  a 
drop  of  Thrush  blood  in  him.  But  you  haven't 
answered  my  question  yet,  Peter  Rabbit.  I  want 
to  know  if  he  has  got  here  yet." 

'Yes,"  said  Peter.  "I  saw  him  only  yesterday 
on  the  edge  of  the  Old  Pasture.  He  was  fussing 
around  in  the  bushes  and  on  the  ground  and  jerking 
that  long  tail  of  his  up  and  down  and  sidewise  as  if 
he  couldn't  decide  what  to  do  with  it.  I've  never 
seen  anybody  twitch  their  tail  around  the  way  he 
does." 

Jenny  Wren  giggled.  "That's  just  like  him," 
said  she.     "  It  is  because  he  thrashes  his  tail  around 

J  £23.] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

so  much  that  he  is  called  a  Thrasher.     I  suppose 
he  was  wearing  his  new  spring  suit." 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  was  a  new  suit  or  not 
but  it  was  mighty  good  looking,"  replied  Peter. 
"I  just  love  that  beautiful  reddish-brown  of  his 
back,  wings  and  tail,  and  it  certainly  does  set  off 
his  white  and  buff  waistcoat  with  those  dark  streaks 
and  spots.  You  must  admit,  Jenny  Wren,  that  any 
one  seeing  him  dressed  so  much  like  the  Thrushes 
is  to  be  excused  for  thinking  him  a  Thrush." 

"I  suppose  so,"  admitted  Jenny  rather  grudg- 
ingly. "  But  none  of  the  Thrushes  have  such  a  bright 
brown  coat.  Brownie  is  handsome,  if  I  do  say  so. 
Did  you  notice  what  a  long  bill  he  has  ?" 

Peter  nodded.  "And  I  noticed  that  he  had  two 
white  bars  on  each  wing,"  said  he. 

"I'm  glad  you're  so  observing,"  replied  Jenny 
dryly.     "Did  you  hear  him  sing  ?" 

"Did  I  hear  him  sing!"  cried  Peter,  his  eyes 
shining  at  the  memory.  "He  sang  especially  for 
me.  He  flew  up  to  the  top  of  a  tree,  tipped  his  head 
back  and  sang  as  few  birds  I  know  of  can  sing. 
He  has  a  wonderful  voice,  has  Brownie.  I  don't 
know  of  anybody  I  enjoy  listening  to  more.  And 
when  he's  singing  he  acts  as  if  he  enjoyed  it  himself 
and  knows  what  a  good  singer  he  is.  I  noticed 
that  long  tail  of  his  hung  straight  down  the  same 
way  Mr.  Wren's  does  when  he  sings." 

[  224  ]  * 


Jenny  Wrens  Cousins 

/.  "Of  course  it  did,"  replied  Jenny  promptly. 
"That's  a  family  trait.  The  tails  of  both  my 
other  big  cousins  do  the  same  thing." 

"Wha-wha-what's  that?  Have  you  got  more 
big  cousins  ?"  cried  Peter,  staring  up  at  Jenny 
as  if  she  were  some  strange  person  he  never  had 
seen  before. 

"Certainly,"  retorted  Jenny.  "Mocker  the 
Mockingbird  and  Kitty  the  Catbird  belong  to 
Brownie's  family,  and  that  makes  them  second 
cousins  to  me." 

Such  a  funny  expression  as  there  was  on  Peter's 
face.  He  felt  that  Jenny  Wren  was  telling  the 
truth,  but  it  was  surprising  news  to  him  and  so  hard 
to  believe  that  for  a  few  minutes  he  couldn't  find 
his  tongue  to  ask  another  question.  Finally  he 
ventured  to  ask  very  timidly,  "Does  Brownie 
imitate  the  songs  of  other  birds  the  way  Mocker 
and  Kitty  do?" 

Jenny  Wren  shook  her  head  very  decidedly. 
"No,"  said  she.  "He's  perfectly  satisfied  with  his 
own  song."  Before  she  could  add  anything  further 
the  clear  whistle  of  Glory  the  Cardinal  sounded 
from  a  tree  just  a  little  way  off.  Instantly  Peter 
forgot  all  about  Jenny  Wren's  relatives  and  scam- 
pered over  to  that  tree.  You  see  Glory  is  so 
beautiful  that  Peter  never  loses  a  chance  to  see  him. 

As  Peter  sat  staring  up  into  the  tree,  trying  to 

[225] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

get  a  glimpse  of  Glory's  beautiful  red  coat,  the  clear, 
sweet  whistle  sounded  once  more.  It  drew  Peter's 
eyes  to  one  of  the  upper  branches,  but  instead  of 
the  beautiful,  brilliant  coat  of  Glory  the  Cardinal 
he  saw  a  bird  about  the  size  of  Welcome  Robin 
dressed  in  sober  ashy-gray  with  two  white  bars  on 
his  wings,  and  white  feathers  on  the  outer  edges  of 
his  tail.  He  was  very  trim  and  neat  and  his  tail 
hung  straight  down  after  the  manner  of  Brownie's 
when  he  was  singing.  It  was  a  long  tail,  but  not  as 
long  as  Brownie's.  Even  as  Peter  blinked  and 
stared  in  surprise  the  stranger  opened  his  mouth 
and  from  it  came  Glory's  own  beautiful  whistle. 
Then  the  stranger  looked  down  at  Peter,  and  his 
eyes  twinkled  with  mischief. 

"Fooled  you  that  time,  didn't  I,  Peter?"  he 
chuckled.  "You  thought  you  were  going  to  see 
Glory  the  Cardinal,  didn't  you?" 

Then  without  waiting  for  Peter  to  reply,  this 
sober-looking  stranger  gave  such  a  concert  as  no 
one  else  in  the  world  could  give.  From  that  won- 
derful throat  poured  out  song  after  song  and  note 
after  note  of  Peter's  familiar  friends  of  the  Old 
Orchard,  and  the  performance  wound  up  with  a 
lovely  song  which  was  all  the  stranger's  own.  Peter 
didn't  have  to  be  told  who  the  stranger  was.  It 
was  Mocker  the  Mockingbird. 

Oh  !"  gasped  Peter.     "Oh,  Mocker,  how  under 

[£26] 


a  i 


Jenny  Wren's  Cousins 

the  sun  do  you  do  it  ?  I  was  sure  that  it  was  Glory 
whom  I  heard  whistling.  Never  again  will  I  be 
able  to  believe  my  own  ears." 

Mocker  chuckled.  "You're  not  the  only  one 
I've  fooled,  Peter,"  said  he.  "I  flatter  myself 
that  I  can  fool  almost  anybody  if  I  set  out  to.  It's 
lots  of  fun.  I  may  not  be  much  to  look  at,  but 
when  it  comes  to  singing  there's  no  one  I  envy." 

"I  think  you  are  very  nice  looking  indeed," 
replied  Peter  politely.  "I've  just  been  finding 
out  this  morning  that  you  can't  tell  much  about 
folks  just  by  their  looks." 

"And  now  you've  learned  that  you  can't  always 
recognize  folks  by  their  voices,  haven't  you  ?" 
chuckled  Mocker. 

'Yes,"  replied  Peter.  "Hereafter  I  shall  never 
be  sure  about  any  feathered  folks  unless  I  can  both 
see  and  hear  them.  Won't  you  sing  for  me  again, 
Mocker  ?" 

Mocker  did.  He  sang  and  sang,  for  he  dearly 
loves  to  sing.  When  he  finished  Peter  had  another 
question  ready.  "Somebody  told  me  once  that 
down  in  the  South  you  are  the  best  loved  of  all  the 
birds.     Is  that  so?" 

"That's  not  for  me  to  say,"  replied  Mocker 
modestly.  "But  I  can  tell  you  this,  Peter,  they  do 
think  a  lot  of  me  down  there.  There  are  many 
birds  down  there  who  are  very  beautifully  dressed, 

[227] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children  ] 

birds  who  don't  come  up  here  at  all.  But  not  one 
of  them  is  loved  as  I  am,  and  it  is  all  on  account  of 
my  voice.  I  would  rather  have  a  beautiful  voice 
than  a  fine  coat." 

Peter  nodded  as  if  he  quite  agreed,  which,  when 
you  think  of  it,  is  rather  funny,  for  Peter  has  neither 
a  fine  coat  nor  a  fine  voice.  A  glint  of  mischief 
sparkled  in  Mocker's  eyes.  "There's  Mrs.  Goldy 
the  Oriole  over  there,"  said  he.  "Watch  me  fool 
her." 

He  began  to  call  in  exact  imitation  of  Goldy's 
voice  when  he  is  anxious  about  something.  At 
once  Mrs.  Goldy  came  hurrying  over  to  find  out 
what  the  trouble  was.  When  she  discovered 
Mocker  she  lost  her  temper  and  scolded  him 
roundly;  then  she  flew  away  a  perfect  picture  of 
indignation.  Mocker  and  Peter  laughed,  for  they 
thought  it  a  good  joke. 

Suddenly  Peter  remembered  what  Jenny  Wren 
had  told  him.  "Was  Jenny  Wren  telling  me  the 
truth  when  she  said  that  you  are  a  second  cousin  of 
hers  ?"  he  asked. 

Mocker  nodded.  "Yes,"  said  he,  "we  are 
relatives.  We  each  belong  to  a  branch  of  the  same 
family."  Then  he  burst  into  Mr.  Wren's  own 
song,  after  which  he  excused  himself  and  went  to 
look  for  Mrs.  Mocker.  For,  as  he  explained,  it  was 
time  for  them  to  be  thinking  of  a  nest. 

[228] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

VOICES    OF    THE    DUSK 

Jolly,  round,  red  Mr.  Sun  was  just  going  to  bed 
behind  the  Purple  Hills  and  the  Black  Shadows 
had  begun  to  creep  all  through  the  Green  Forest  and 
out  across  the  Green  Meadows.  It  was  the  hour 
of  the  day  Peter  Rabbit  loves  best.  He  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  Green  Forest  watching  for  the  first 
little  star  to  twinkle  high  up  in  the  sky.  Peter  felt 
at  peace  with  all  the  Great  World,  for  it  was  the 
hour  of  peace,  the  hour  of  rest  for  those  who  had 
been  busy  all  through  the  shining  day. 

Most  of  Peter's  feathered  friends  had  settled 
themselves  for  the  coming  night,  the  worries  and 
cares  of  the  day  over  and  forgotten.  All  the  Great 
World  seemed  hushed.  In  the  distance  Sweet- 
voice  the  Vesper  Sparrow  was  pouring  out  his 
evening  song,  for  it  was  the  hour  when  he  dearly 
loves  to  sing.  Far  back  in  the  Green  Forest  Whip- 
poor-will  was  calling  as  if  his  very  life  depended  on 
the  number  of  times  he  could  say,  "Whip  poor 
Will,"  without  taking  a  breath.     From  overhead 

[&£9] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

came  now  and  then  the  sharp,  rather  harsh  cry  of 
Boomer  the  Nighthawk,  as  he  hunted  his  supper  in 
the  air. 

For  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  these  were  the  only 
feathered  friends  still  awake,  and  Peter  couldn't 
help  thinking  that  those  who  went  so  early  to  bed 
missed  the  most  beautiful  hour  of  the  whole  day. 
Then,  from  a  tree  just  back  of  him,  there  poured 
forth  a  song  so  clear,  so  sweet,  so  wonderfully  suited 
to  that  peaceful  hour,  that  Peter  held  his  breath 
until  it  was  finished.  He  knew  that  singer  and 
loved   him.     It   was  Melody  the  Wood  Thrush. 

When  the  song  ended  Peter  hopped  over  to  the 
tree  from  which  it  had  come.  It  was  still  light 
enough  for  him  to  see  the  sweet  singer.  He  sat 
on  a  branch  near  the  top,  his  head  thrown  back  and 
his  soft,  full  throat  throbbing  with  the  flute-like 
notes  he  was  pouring  forth.  He  was  a  little  smaller 
than  Welcome  Robin.  His  coat  was  a  beautiful 
reddish-brown,  not  quite  so  bright  as  that  of 
Brownie  the  Thrasher.  Beneath  he  was  white 
with  large,  black  spots  thickly  dotting  his  breast 
and  sides.  He  was  singing  as  if  he  were  trying  to 
put  into  those  beautiful  notes  all  the  joy  of  life. 
Listening  to  it  Peter  felt  steal  over  him  a  wonder- 
ful feeling  of  peace  and  pure  happiness.  Not  for 
the  world  would  he  have  interrupted  it. 

The  Black  Shadows  crept  far  across  the  Green 

[230] 


MELODY    THE    WOOD    THRUSH.    His  sides  are  spotted  like  his  breast. 
TEACHER    THE    OVEN    BIRD.     You  can  tell  him  by  the  way  he  repeats 


hi 


is  own  name. 


• 


Voices  of  the  Dusk 

Meadows  and  it  became  so  dusky  in  the  Green 
Forest  that  Peter  could  barely  make  out  the  sweet 
singer  above  his  head.  Still  Melody  sang  on  and 
the  hush  of  eventide  grew  deeper,  as  if  all  the  Great 
World  were  holding  its  breath  to  listen.  It  was  not 
until  several  little  stars  had  begun  to  twinkle  high 
up  in  the  sky  that  Melody  stopped  singing  and 
sought  the  safety  of  his  hidden  perch  for  the  night. 
Peter  felt  sure  that  somewhere  near  was  a  nest 
and  that  one  thing  which  had  made  that  song  so 
beautiful  was  the  love  Melody  had  been  trying  to 
express  to  the  little  mate  sitting  on  the  eggs  that 
nest  must  contain.  "I'll  just  run  over  here  early 
in  the  morning,"  thought  Peter. 

Now  Peter  is  a  great  hand  to  stay  out  all  night, 
and  that  is  just  what  he  did  that  night.  Just  before 
it  was  time  for  jolly,  round,  red  Mr.  Sun  to  kick  off 
his  rosy  blankets  and  begin  his  daily  climb  up  in 
the  blue,  blue  sky,  Peter  started  for  home  in  the 
dear  Old  Briar-patch.  Everywhere  in  the  Green 
Forest,  in  the  Old  Orchard,  on  the  Green  Meadows, 
his  feathered  friends  were  awakening.  He  had 
quite  forgotten  his  intention  to  visit  Melody  and 
was  reminded  of  it  only  when  again  he  heard  those 
beautiful  flute-like  notes.  At  once  he  scampered 
over  to  where  he  had  spent  such  a  peaceful  hour 
the  evening  before.  Melody  saw  him  at  once  and 
dropped  down  on  the  ground  for  a  little  gossip 

[  231  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

while  he  scratched  among  the  leaves  in  search  of 
his  breakfast. 

"I  just  love  to  hear  you  sing,  Melody,"  cried 
Peter  rather  breathlessly.  "I  don't  know  of  any 
other  song  that  makes  me  feel  quite  as  yours  does, 
so  sort  of  perfectly  contented  and  free  of  care  and 
worry."  , 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Melody.  "I'm  glad  you 
like  to  hear  me  sing  for  there  is  nothing  I  like  to  do 
better.  It  is  the  one  way  in  which  I  can  express 
my  feelings.  I  love  all  the  Great  World  and  I  just 
have  to  tell  it  so.  I  do  not  mean  to  boast  when  I 
say  that  all  the  Thrush  family  have  good  voices." 

"But  you  have  the  best  of  all,"  cried  Peter. 

Melody  shook  his  brown  head.  "I  wouldn't  say 
that,"  said  he  modestly.  "I  think  the  song  of  my 
cousin,  Hermit,  is  even  more  beautiful  than  mine. 
And  then  there  is  my  other  cousin,  Veery.  His 
song  is  wonderful,  I  think." 

But  just  then  Peter's  curiosity  was  greater  than 
his  interest  in  songs.  "Have  you  built  your  nest 
yet?"  he  asked. 

Melody  nodded.  "It  is  in  a  little  tree  not  far 
from  here,"  said  he,  "and  Mrs.  Wood  Thrush  is 
sitting  on  five  eggs  this  blessed  minute.  Isn't  that 
perfectly  lovely  ?" 

It  was  Peter's  turn  to  nod.  "What  is  your  nest 
built  of  ?"  he  inquired. 

[232] 


Voices  of  the  Dusk 

"Rootlets  and  tiny  twigs  and  weed  stalks  and 
leaves  and  mud,"  replied  Melody. 

"Mud!"  exclaimed  Peter.  "Why,  that's  what 
Welcome  Robin  uses  in  his  nest." 

"Well,  Welcome  Robin  is  my  own  cousin,  so  I 
don't  know  as  there's  anything  so  surprising  in 
that,"  retorted  Melody. 

"Oh,"  said  Peter.  "I  had  forgotten  that  he  is  a 
member  of  the  Thrush  family." 

"Well,  he  is,  even  if  he  is  dressed  quite  differently 
from  the  rest  of  us,"  replied  Melody. 

"You  mentioned  your  cousin,  Hermit.  I  don't 
believe  I  know  him,"  said  Peter. 

"Then  it's  high  time  you  got  acquainted  with 
him,"  replied  Melody  promptly.  "He  is  rather 
fond  of  being  by  himself  and  that  is  why  he  is  called 
the  Hermit  Thrush.  He  is  smaller  than  I  and  his 
coat  is  not  such  a  bright  brown.  His  tail  is 
brighter  than  his  coat.  He  has  a  waistcoat  spotted 
very  much  like  mine.  Some  folks  consider  him  the 
most  beautiful  singer  of  the  Thrush  family.  I'm 
glad  you  like  my  song,  but  you  must  hear  Hermit 
sing.  I  really  think  there  is  no  song  so  beautiful 
in  all  the  Green  Forest." 

"Does  he  build  a  nest  like  yours  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"No,"  replied  Melody.  "He  builds  his  nest  on 
the  ground,  and  he  doesn't  use  any  mud.  Now  if 
you'll  excuse  me,  Peter,  I  must  get  my  breakfast 

[233  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

and   give   Mrs.   Wood   Thrush  a   chance   to   get 
hers." 

So  Peter  continued  on  his  way  to  the  dear  Old 
Briar-patch  and  there  he  spent  the  day.  As  eve- 
ning approached  he  decided  to  go  back  to  hear 
Melody  sing  again.  Just  as  he  drew  near  the  Green 
Forest  he  heard  from  the  direction  of  the  Laughing 
Brook  a  song  that  caused  him  to  change  his  mind 
and  sent  him  hurrying  in  that  direction.  It  was  a 
very  different  song  from  that  of  Melody  the  Wood 
Thrush,  yet,  if  he  had  never  heard  it  before,  Peter 
would  have  known  that  such  a  song  could  come 
from  no  throat  except  that  of  a  member  of  the 
Thrush  family.  As  he  drew  near  the  Laughing 
Brook  the  beautiful  notes  seemed  to  ring  through 
the  Green  Forest  like  a  bell.  As  Melody's  song 
had  filled  Peter  with  a  feeling  of  peace,  so  this  song 
stirred  in  him  a  feeling  of  the  wonderful  mystery 
of  life.  There  was  in  it  the  very  spirit  of  the  Green 
Forest. 

It  didn't  take  Peter  long  to  find  the  singer.  It 
was  Veery,  who  has  been  named  Wilson's  Thrush, 
and  by  some  folks  is  known  as  the  Tawny  Thrush. 

At  the  sound  of  the  patter  of  Peter's  feet  the  song 
stopped  abruptly  and  he  was  greeted  with  a  whistled 
"Wheeu!  wheeu !"  Then,  seeing  that  it  was  no 
one  of  whom  he  need  be  afraid,  Veery  came  out 
from  under  some  ferns  to  greet  Peter.     He  was 

[234] 


Voices  of  the  Dusk 

smaller  than  Melody  the  Wood  Thrush,  being 
about  one-fourth  smaller  than  Welcome  Robin. 
He  wore  a  brown  coat  but  it  was  not  as  bright  as 
that  of  his  cousin,  Melody.  His  breast  was  some- 
what faintly  spotted  with  brown,  and  below  he 
was  white.  His  sides  were  grayish-white  and  not 
spotted  like  the  sides  of  Melody. 

"I  heard  you  singing  and  I  just  had  to  come  over 
to  see  you,"  cried  Peter. 

"I  hope  you  like  my  song,"  said  Veery.  "I  love 
to  sing  just  at  this  hour  and  I  love  to  think  that 
other  people  like  to  hear  me." 

"They  do,"  declared  Peter  most  emphatically. 
"I  can't  imagine  how  anybody  could  fail  to  like 
to  hear  you.  I  came  'way  over  here  just  to  sit  a 
while  and  listen.  Won't  you  sing  some  more  for 
me,  Veery?" 

"I  certainly  will,  Peter,"  replied  Veery.  "I 
wouldn't  feel  that  I  was  going  to  bed  right  if  I 
didn't  sing  until  dark.  There  is  no  part  of  the 
day  I  love  better  than  the  evening,  and  the  only 
way  I  can  express  my  happiness  and  my  love  of 
the  Green  Forest  and  the  joy  of  just  being  back 
here  at  home  is  by  singing." 

Veery  slipped  out  of  sight,  and  almost  at  once  his 
bell-like  notes  began  to  ring  through  the  Green 
Forest.  Peter  sat  right  where  he  was,  content  to 
just  listen  and  feel  within  himself  the  joy  of  being 

\  [  235  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

alive  and  happy  in  the  beautiful  spring  season 
which  Veery  was  expressing  so  wonderfully.  The 
Black  Shadows  grew  blacker.  One  by  one  the  little 
stars  came  out  and  twinkled  down  through  the 
tree  tops.  Finally  from  deep  in  the  Green  Forest 
sounded  the  hunting  call  of  Hooty  the  Owl. 
Veery's  song  stopped.  "Good  night,  Peter,"  he 
called  softly. 

"Good  night,  Veery,"  replied  Peter  and  hopped 
back  towards  the  Green  Meadows  for  a  feast  of 
sweet  clover. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

PETER  SAVES  A  FRIEND  AND  LEARNS  SOMETHING 

Peter  Rabbit  sat  in  a  thicket  of  young  trees 
on  the  edge  of  the  Green  Forest.  It  was  warm  and 
Peter  was  feeling  lazy.  He  had  nothing  in  particu- 
lar to  do,  and  as  he  knew  of  no  cooler  place  he  had 
squatted  there  to  doze  a  bit  and  dream  a  bit.  So 
far  as  he  knew,  Peter  was  all  alone.  He  hadn't 
seen  anybody  when  he  entered  that  little  thicket, 
and  though  he  had  listened  he  hadn't  heard  a 
sound  to  indicate  that  he  didn't  have  that  thicket 
quite  to  himself.  It  was  very  quiet  there,  and 
though  when  he  first  entered  he  hadn't  the  least  in- 
tention in  the  world  of  going  to  sleep,  it  wasn't 
long  before  he  was  dozing. 

Now  Peter  is  a  light  sleeper,  as  all  little  people 
who  never  know  when  they  may  have  to  run  for 
their  lives  must  be.  By  and  by  he  awoke  with 
a  start,  and  he  was  very  wideawake  indeed.  Some- 
thing had  wakened  him,  though  just  what  it  was  he 
couldn't  say.  His  long  ears  stood  straight  up  as  he 
listened  with  all  his  might  for  some  little  sound 
which  might  mean  danger.  His  wobbly  little  nose 
wobbled  very  fast  indeed  as  it  tested  the  air  for  the 

[  237  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

scent  of  a  possible  enemy.  Very  alert  was  Peter 
as  he  waited. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  heard  nothing  and  saw 
nothing.  Then,  near  the  outer  edge  of  the  thicket, 
he  heard  a  great  rustling  of  dry  leaves.  It  must 
have  been  this  that  had  wakened  him.  For  just 
an  instant  Peter  was  startled,  but  only  for  an 
instant.  His  long  ears  told  him  at  once  that  that 
noise  was  made  by  some  one  scratching  among  the 
leaves,  and  he  knew  that  no  one  who  did  not  wear 
feathers  could  scratch  like  that. 

"Now  who  can  that  be?"  thought  Peter,  and 
stole  forward  very  softly  towards  the  place  from 
which  the  sound  came.  Presently,  as  he  peeped 
between  the  stems  of  the  young  trees,  he  saw  the 
brown  leaves  which  carpeted  the  ground  fly  this 
way  and  that,  and  in  the  midst  of  them  was  an 
exceedingly  busy  person,  a  little  smaller  than 
Welcome  Robin,  scratching  away  for  dear  life. 
Every  now  and  then  he  picked  up  something. 

His  head,  throat,  back  and  breast  were  black. 
Beneath  he  was  white.  His  sides  were  reddish- 
brown.  His  tail  was  black  and  white,  and  the 
longer  feathers  of  his  wings  were  edged  with  white. 
It  was  Chewink  the  Towhee,  sometimes  called 
Ground  Robin. 

Peter  chuckled,  but  it  was  a  noiseless  chuckle. 
He  kept  perfectly  still,  for  it  was  fun  to  watch  some 

.[338] 


V 


Peter  Saves  a  Friend  and  Learns  Something 

one  who  hadn't  the  least  idea  that  he  was  being 
watched.  It  was  quite  clear  that  Chewink  was 
hungry  and  that  under  those  dry  leaves  he  was 
finding  a  good  meal.  His  feet  were  made  for 
scratching  and  he  certainly  knew  how  to  use  them. 
For  some  time  Peter  sat  there  watching.  He  had 
just  about  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  make 
his  presence  known  and  have  a  bit  of  morning  gossip 
when,  happening  to  look  out  beyond  the  edge  of 
the  little  thicket,  he  saw  something  red.  It  was 
something  alive,  for  it  was  moving  very  slowly  and 
Cautiously  towards  the  place  where  Chewink  was 
so  busy  and  forgetful  of  everything  but  his  break- 
fast. Peter  knew  that  there  was  only  one  person 
with  a  coat  of  that  color.  It  was  Roddy  Fox,  and 
quite  plainly  Reddy  was  hoping  to  catch  Chewink. 

For  a  second  or  two  Peter  was  quite  undecided 
what  to  do.  He  couldn't  warn  Chewink  without 
making  his  own  presence  known  to  Reddy  Fox. 
Of  course  he  could  sit  perfectly  still  and  let  Chewink 
be  caught,  but  that  was  such  a  dreadful  thought 
that  Peter  didn't  consider  it  for  more  than  a  second 
or  two.  He  suddenly  thumped  the  ground  with 
his  feet.  It  was  his  danger  signal  which  all  his 
friends  know.  Then  he  turned  and  scampered 
lipperty-lipperty-lip  to  a  thick  bramble-tangle  not 
far  behind  him. 

At  the  sound  of  that  thump  Chewink  instantly 

[239] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

flew  up  in  a  little  tree.  Then  he  saw  Reddy  Fox 
and  began  to  scold.  As  for  Reddy,  he  looked  over 
towards  the  bramble-tangle  and  snarled.  "I'll 
get  you  one  of  these  days,  Peter  Rabbit,"  said  he. 
"I'll  get  you  one  of  these  days  and  pay  you  up  for 
cheating  me  out  of  a  breakfast."  Without  so 
much  as  a  glance  at  Chewink,  Reddy  turned  and 
trotted  off,  trying  his  best  to  look  dignified  and  as  if 
he  had  never  entertained  such  a  thought  as  trying 
to  catch  Chewink. 

From  his  perch  Chewink  watched  until  he  was 
sure  that  Reddy  Fox  had  gone  away  for  good. 
Then  he  called  softly, "  Towhee !  Towhee !  Chewink ! 
Chewink !  All  is  safe  now,  Peter  Rabbit.  Come 
out  and  talk  with  me  and  let  me  tell  you  how  grate- 
ful to  you  I  am  for  saving  my  life." 

Chewink  flew  down  to  the  ground  and  Peter  crept 
out  of  the  bramble-tangle.  "It  wasn't  anything," 
declared  Peter.  "I  saw  Reddy  and  I  knew  you 
didn't,  so  of  course  I  gave  the  alarm.  You  would 
have  done  the  same  thing  for  me.  Do  you  know, 
Chewink,  I've  wondered  a  great  deal  about  you." 

"What  have  you  wondered  about  me?"  asked 
Chewink. 

"I've  wondered  what  family  you  belong  to," 
replied  Peter. 

Chewink  chuckled.  "I  belong  to  a  big  family," 
said  he.     "I  belong  to  the  biggest  family  among 

[240] 


Peter  Saves  a  Friend  and  Learns  Something 

the  birds.  It  is  the  Finch  and  Sparrow  family. 
There  are  a  lot  of  us  and  a  good  many  of  us  don't 
look  much  alike,  but  still  we  belong  to  the  same 
family.  I  suppose  you  know  that  Rosebreast  the 
Grosbeak  and  Glory  the  Cardinal  are  members  of 
my  family." 

"I  didn't  know  it,"  replied  Peter,  "but  if  you 
say  it  is  so  I  suppose  it  must  be  so.  It  is  easier 
to  believe  than  it  is  to  believe  that  you  are  related 
to  the  Sparrows." 

"Nevertheless  I  am,"  retorted  Chewink. 

"What  were  you  scratching  for  when  I  first  saw 
you  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"Oh,  worms  and  bugs  that  hide  under  the 
leaves,"  replied  Chewink  carelessly.  "You  have 
no  idea  how  many  of  them  hide  under  dead  leaves." 

"Do  you  eat  anything  else  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"Berries  and  wild  fruits  in  season,"  replied  Che- 
wink. "I'm  very  fond  of  them.  They  make  a 
variety  in  the  bill  of  fare." 

"I've  noticed  that  I  seldom  see  you  up  in  the 
tree  tops,"  remarked  Peter. 

"I  like  the  ground  better,"  replied  Chewink. 
"I  spend  more  of  my  time  on  the  ground  than 
anywhere  else." 

"I  suppose  that  means  that  you  nest  on  the 
ground,"  ventured  Peter. 

Chewink  nodded.    "Of  course,"  said  he.    "As  a 

[241] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

matter  of  fact,  I've  got  a  nest  in  this  very  thicket. 
Mrs.  Towhee  is  on  it  right  now,  and  I  suspect 
she's  worrying  and  anxious  to  know  what  happened 
over  here  when  you  warned  me  about  Reddy  Fox. 
I  think  I  must  go  over  and  set  her  mind  at 
rest." 

Peter  was  just  about  to  ask  if  he  might  go  along 
and  see  that  nest  when  a  new  voice  broke  in. 

"What  are  you  fellows  talking  about?"  it  de- 
manded, and  there  flitted  just  in  front  of  Peter  a 
little  bird  the  size  of  a  Sparrow  but  lovelier  than 
any  Sparrow  of  Peter's  acquaintance.  At  first 
glance  he  seemed  to  be  all  blue,  and  such  a  lovely 
bright  blue.  But  as  he  paused  for  an  instant  Peter 
saw  that  his  wings  and  tail  were  mostly  black  and 
that  the  lovely  blue  was  brightest  on  his  head  and 
back.     It  was  Indigo  the  Bunting. 

"We  were  talking  about  our  family,"  replied 
Chewink.  "I  was  telling  Peter  that  we  belong  to 
the  largest  family  among  the  birds." 

"But  you  didn't  say  anything  about  Indigo," 
interrupted  Peter.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he 
belongs  to  the  same  family  ?" 

"I  surely  do,"  replied  Indigo.  "I'm  rather 
closely  related  to  the  Sparrow  branch.  Don't 
I  look  like  a  Sparrow  ?" 

Peter  looked  at  Indigo  closely.  "In  size  and 
shape  you  do,"  he  confessed,  "but  just  the  same  I 

[242] 


Peter  Saves  a  Friend  and  Learns  Something     • 

should  never  in  the  world  have  thought  of  con- 
necting you  with  the  Sparrows." 

"How  about  me?"  asked  another  voice,  and  a 
little  brown  bird  flew  up  beside  Indigo,  twitching 
her  tail  nervously.  She  looked  very  Sparrow-like 
indeed,  so  much  so,  that  if  Peter  had  not  seen  her 
with  her  handsome  mate,  for  she  was  Mrs.  Indigo, 
he  certainly  would  have  taken  her  for  a  Sparrow. 
Only  on  her  wings  and  tail  was  there  any  of  the 
blue  which  made  Indigo's  coat  so  beautiful,  and 
this  was  only  a  faint  tinge. 

"I'll  have  to  confess  that  so  far  as  you  are 
concerned  it  isn't  hard  to  think  of  you  as  related 
to  the  Sparrows,"  declared  Peter.  "Don't  you 
sometimes  wish  you  were  as  handsomely  dressed 
as  Indigo?" 

Mrs.  Indigo  shook  her  head  in  a  most  decided 
way.  "Never!"  she  declared.  "I  have  worries 
enough  raising  a  family  as  it  is,  but  if  I  had  a  coat 
like  his  I  wouldn't  have  a  moment  of  peace.  You 
have  no  idea  how  I  worry  about  him  sometimes. 
You  ought  to  be  thankful,  Peter  Rabbit,  that  you 
haven't  a  coat  like  his.  It  attracts  altogether 
too  much  attention." 

Peter  tried  to  picture  himself  in  a  bright  blue 
coat  and  laughed  right  out  at  the  mere  thought,  and 
the  others  joined  with  him.  Then  Indigo  flew  up 
to  the  top  of  a  tall  tree  not  far  away  and  began  to 

[243] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

sing.  It  was  a  lively  song  and  Peter  enjoyed  it 
thoroughly.  Mrs.  Indigo  took  this  opportunity 
to  slip  away  unobserved,  and  when  Peter  looked 
around  for  Chewink,  he  too  had  disappeared.  He 
had  gone  to  tell  Mrs.  Chewink  that  he  was  quite 
safe  and  that  she  had  nothing  to  worry  about. 


[244] 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A   ROYAL   DRESSER   AND   A  LATE   NESTER 

Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  were  busy.  If  there  were 
any  busier  little  folks  anywhere  Peter  Rabbit 
couldn't  imagine  who  they  could  be.  You  see, 
everyone  of  those  seven  eggs  in  the  Wren  nest 
had  hatched,  and  seven  mouths  are  a  lot  to  feed, 
especially  when  every  morsel  of  food  must  be 
hunted  for  and  carried  from  a  distance.  There  was 
little  time  for  gossip  now.  Just  as  soon  as  it  was 
light  enough  to  see  Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  began 
feeding  those  always  hungry  babies,  and  they  kept 
at  it  with  hardly  time  for  an  occasional  mouthful 
themselves,  until  the  Black  Shadows  came  creeping 
out  from  the  Purple  Hills.  Wren  babies,  like  all 
other  bird  babies,  grow  very  fast,  and  that  means 
that  each  one  of  them  must  have  a  great  deal  of 
food  every  day.  Each  one  of  them  often  ate  its 
own  weight  in  food  in  a  day  and  all  their  food  had  to 
be  hunted  for  and  when  found  carried  back  and 
put  into  the  gaping  little  mouths.  Hardly  would 
Jenny  Wren  disappear  in  the  little  round  doorway 
of  her  home  with  a  caterpillar  in  her  bill  than  she 

[  245  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

would  hop  out  again,  and  Mr.  Wren  would  take  her 
place  with  a  spider  or  a  fly  and  then  hurry  away  for 
something  more. 

Peter  tried  to  keep  count  of  the  number  of  times 
they  came  and  went  but  soon  gave  it  up  as  a  bad 
job.  He  began  to  wonder  where  all  the  worms  and 
bugs  and  spiders  came  from,  and  gradually  he  came 
to  have  a  great  deal  of  respect  for  eyes  sharp  enough 
to  find  them  so  quickly.  Needless  to  say  Jenny 
was  shorter-tempered  than  ever.  She  had  no  time 
to  gossip  and  said  so  most  emphatically.  So  at 
last  Peter  gave  up  the  idea  of  trying  to  find  out 
from  her  certain  things  he  wanted  to  know,  and 
hopped  off  to  look  for  some  one  who  was  less  busy. 
He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  his  atten- 
tion was  caught  by  a  song  so  sweet  and  so  full  of 
little  trills  that  he  first  stopped  to  listen,  then 
went  to  look  for  the  singer. 

It  didn't  take  long  to  find  him,  for  he  was  sitting 
on  the  very  tiptop  of  a  fir-tree  in  Farmer  Brown's 
yard.  Peter  didn't  dare  go  over  there,  for 
already  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  he  had  about 
made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  have  to  content 
himself  with  just  listening  to  that  sweet  singer 
when  the  latter  flew  over  in  the  Old  Orchard  and 
alighted  just  over  Peter's  head.  "Hello,  Peter!" 
he  cried. 

"Hello,  Linnet!"  cried  Peter.     "I  was  wonder- 

[246] 


A  Royal  Dresser  and  a  Late  N ester 

ing  who  it  could  be  who  was  singing  like  that. 
I  ought  to  have  known,  but  you  see  it's  so  long 
since  I've  heard  you  sing  that  I  couldn't  just 
remember  your  song.  I'm  so  glad  you  came  over 
here  for  I'm  just  dying  to  talk  to  somebody." 

Linnet  the  Purple  Finch,  for  this  is  who  it  was, 
laughed  right  out.  "I  see  you're  still  the  same  old 
Peter,"  said  he.  "I  suppose  you're  just  as  full  of 
curiosity  as  ever  and  just  as  full  of  questions. 
Well,  here  I  am,  so  what  shall  we  talk  about  ?" 

"You,"  replied  Peter  bluntly.  "Lately  I've 
found  out  so  many  surprising  things  about  my 
feathered  friends  that  I  want  to  know  more.  I'm 
trying  to  get  it  straight  in  my  head  who  is  related 
to  who,  and  I've  found  out  some  things  which  have 
begun  to  make  me  feel  that  I  know  very  little  about 
my  feathered  neighbors.  It's  getting  so  that  I 
don't  dare  to  even  guess  who  a  person's  relatives 
are.  If  you  please,  Linnet,  what  family  do  you 
belong  to  ?" 

Linnet  flew  down  a  little  nearer  to  Peter.  "Look 
me  over,  Peter,"  said  he  with  twinkling  eyes. 
"Look  me  over  and  see  if  you  can't  tell  for  your- 
self." 

Peter  stared  solemnly  at  Linnet.  He  saw  a  bird 
of  Sparrow  size  most  of  whose  body  was  a  rose-red, 
brightest  on  the  head,  darkest  on  the  back,  and 
palest  on  the  breast.     Underneath  he  was  whitish. 

[247] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

His  wings  and  tail  were  brownish,  the  outer  parts 
of  the  feathers  edged  with  rose-red.  His  bill 
was  short  and  stout. 

Before  Peter  could  reply,  Mrs.  Linnet  appeared. 
There  wasn't  so  much  as  a  touch  of  that  beautiful 
rose-red  about  her.  Her  grayish-brown  back  was 
streaked  with  black,  and  her  white  breast  and  sides 
were  spotted  and  streaked  with  brown.  If  Peter 
hadn't  seen  her  with  Linnet  he  certainly  would 
have  taken  her  for  a  Sparrow.  She  looked  so  much 
like  one  that  he  ventured  to  say,  "I  guess  you  be- 
long to  the  Sparrow  family." 

"That's  pretty  close,  Peter.  That's  pretty 
close,"  declared  Linnet.  "We  belong  to  the  Finch 
branch  of  the  family,  which  makes  the  Sparrows 
own  cousins  to  us.  Folks  may  get  Mrs.  Linnet 
mixed  with  some  of  our  Sparrow  cousins,  but  they 
never  can  mistake  me.  There  isn't  anybody  else 
my  size  with  a  rose-red  coat  like  mine.  If  you 
can't  remember  my  song,  which  you  ought  to, 
because  there  is  no  other  song  quite  like  it,  you  can 
always  tell  me  by  the  color  of  my  coat.  Hello ! 
Here  comes  Cousin  Chicoree.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
happier  fellow  than  he  is  ?  I'll  venture  to  say  that 
he  has  been  having  such  a  good  time  that  he  hasn't 
even  yet  thought  of  building  a  nest,  and  here  half 
the  people  of  the  Old  Orchard  have  grown  families. 
I've  a  nest   and  eggs   myself,  but  that   madcap 

[248] 


CHICOREE    THE    GOLDFINCH.      There  is  no  mistaking  this  little  yellow  and 
black  bird. 


-       / 


HUMMER    THE    RUBY-THROATED     HUMMINGBIRD.      The    only 
member  of  his  family  in  the  East. 


A  Royal  Dresser  and  a  Late  N ester 

is  just  roaming  about  having  a  good  time.  Isn't 
that  so,  Chicoree?" 

"Isn't  what  so?"  demanded  Chicoree  the  Gold- 
finch, perching  very  near  to  where  Linnet  was 
sitting. 

"Isn't  it  true  that  you  haven't  even  begun  think- 
ing about  a  nest?"  demanded  Linnet.  Chicoree 
flew  down  in  the  grass  almost  under  Peter's  nose 
and  began  to  pull  apart  a  dandelion  which  had 
gone  to  seed.  He  snipped  the  seeds  from  the  soft 
down  to  which  they  were  attached  and  didn't  say  a 
word  till  he  was  quite  through.  Then  he  flew  up 
in  the  tree  near  Linnet,  and  while  he  dressed  his 
feathers,  answered  Linnet's  question. 

"It's  quite  true,  but  what  of  it?"  said  he. 
'There's  time  enough  to  think  about  nest-building 
and  household  cares  later.  Mrs.  Goldfinch  and 
I  will  begin  to  think  about  them  about  the  first  of 
July.  Meanwhile  we  are  making  the  most  of  this 
beautiful  season  to  roam  about  and  have  a  good 
time.  For  one  thing  we  like  thistledown  to  line 
our  nest,  and  there  isn't  any  thistledown  yet. 
Then,  there  is  no  sense  in  raising  a  family  until 
there  is  plenty  of  the  right  kind  of  food,  and  you 
know  we  Goldfinches  live  mostly  on  seeds.  I'll 
venture  to  say  that  we  are  the  greatest  seed-eaters 
anywhere  around.  Of  course  when  the  babies  are 
small  they  have  to  have  soft  food,  but  one  can  find 

[  249  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

plenty  of  worms  and  bugs  any  time  during  the 
summer.  Just  as  soon  as  the  children  are  big 
enough  to  hunt  their  own  food  they  need  seeds,  so 
there  is  no  sense  in  trying  to  raise  a  family  until 
there  are  plenty  of  seeds  for  them  when  needed. 
Meanwhile  we  are  having  a  good  time.  How  do 
you  like  my  summer  suit,  Peter?" 

" It's  beautiful,"  cried  Peter.  "I  wouldn't  know 
you  for  the  same  bird  I  see  so  often  in  the  late  fall 
and  sometimes  in  the  winter.  I  don't  know  of 
anybody  who  makes  a  more  complete  change. 
That  black  cap  certainly  is  very  smart  and  be- 


coming;." 


Chicoree  cocked  his  head  on  one  side,  the  better 
to  show  off  that  black  cap.  The  rest  of  his  head 
and  his  whole  body  were  bright  yellow.  His  wings 
were  black  with  two  white  bars  on  each.  His  tail 
also  was  black,  with  some  white  on  it.  In  size  he 
was  a  little  smaller  than  Linnet  and  altogether  one 
of  the  smartest  appearing  of  all  the  little  people  who 
wear  feathers.  It  was  a  joy  just  to  look  at  him. 
If  Peter  had  known  anything  about  Canaries,  which 
of  course  he  didn't,  because  Canaries  are  always 
kept  in  cages,  he  would  have  understood  why 
Chicoree  the  Goldfinch  is  often  called  the  Wild 
Canary. 

Mrs.  Goldfinch  now  joined  her  handsome  mate 
and  it  was  plain  to  see  that  she  admired  him  quite 

[  250  ] 


A  Royal  Dresser  and  a  Late  Nester 

as  much  as  did  Peter.  Her  wings  and  tail  were 
much  like  his  but  were  more  brownish  than  black. 
She  wore  no  cap  at  all  and  her  back  and  head  were 
a  grayish-brown  with  an  olive  tinge.  Under- 
neath she  was  lighter,  with  a  tinge  of  yellow. 
All  together  she  was  a  very  modestly  dressed  small 
person.  As  Peter  recalled  Chicoree's  winter  suit, 
it  was  very  much  like  that  now  worn  by  Mrs.  Gold- 
finch, save  that  his  wings  and  tail  were  as  they  now 
appeared. 

All  the  time  Chicoree  kept  up  a  continual  happy 
twittering,  breaking  out  every  few  moments  into 
song.  It  was  clear  that  he  was  fairly  bubbling 
over  with  joy. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Peter,  "it  sounds  foolish  of 
me  to  ask  if  you  are  a  member  of  the  same  family 
as  Linnet." 

"Very  foolish,  Peter.  Very  foolish,"  laughed 
Chicoree.  "Isn't  my  name  Goldfinch,  and  isn't 
his  name  Purple  Finch  ?  We  belong  to  the  same 
family  and  a  mighty  fine  family  it  is.  Now  I 
must  go  over  to  the  Old  Pasture  to  see  how  the 
thistles  are  coming  on." 

Away  he  flew  calling,  "  Chic-o-ree,  per-chic-o-ree, 
chic-o-ree !"  Mrs.  Goldfinch  followed.  As  they 
flew,  they  rose  and  fell  in  the  air  in  very  much  the 
same  way  that  Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker  does. 

"I'd  know  them  just  by  that,  even  if  Chicoree 

[251] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

didn't  keep  calling  his  own  name,"  thought  Peter. 
"It's  funny  how  they  often  stay  around  all  winter 
yet  are  among  the  last  of  all  the  birds  to  set  up 
housekeeping.  As  I  once  said  to  Jenny  Wren, 
birds  certainly  are  funny  creatures." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!  It's  no  such  thing, 
Peter  Rabbit.  It's  no  such  thing,"  scolded  Jenny 
Wren  as  she  flew  past  Peter  on  her  way  to  hunt  for 
another  worm  for  her  hungry  babies. 


[252] 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

MOURNER    THE    DOVE    AND    CUCKOO 

A  long  lane  leads  from  Farmer  Brown's  barn- 
vard  down  to  his  cornfield  on  the  Green  Meadows. 
It  happened  that  very  early  one  morning  Peter 
Rabbit  took  it  into  his  funny  little  head  to  run  down 
that  long  lane  to  see  what  he  might  see.  Now  at  a 
certain  place  beside  that  long  lane  was  a  gravelly 
bank  into  which  Farmer  Brown  had  dug  for  gravel 
to  put  on  the  roadway  up  near  his  house.  As 
Peter  was  scampering  past  this  place  where  Farmer 
Brown  had  dug  he  caught  sight  of  some  one  very 
busy  in  that  gravel  pit.  Peter  stopped  short, 
then  sat  up  to  stare. 

It  was  Mourner  the  Dove  whom  Peter  saw,  an 
old  friend  of  whom  Peter  is  very  fond.  His  body 
was  a  little  bigger  than  that  of  Welcome  Robin, 
but  his  long  slender  neck,  and  longer  tail  and  wings 
made  him  appear  considerably  larger.  In  shape 
he  reminded  Peter  at  once  of  the  Pigeons  up  at 
Farmer  Brown's.  His  back  was  grayish-brown, 
varying  to  bluish-gray.  The  crown  and  upper 
parts  of  his  head  were   bluish -gray.     His  breast 

[253] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

was  reddish-buff,  shading  down  into  a  soft  buff. 
His  bill  was  black  and  his  feet  red.  The  two 
middle  feathers  of  his  tail  were  longest  and  of  the 
color  of  his  back.  The  other  feathers  were  slaty- 
gray  with  little  black  bands  and  tipped  with  white. 
On  his  wings  were  a  few  scattered  black  spots. 
Just  under  each  ear  was  a  black  spot.  But  it  was 
the  sides  of  his  slender  neck  which  were  the  most 
beautiful  part  of  Mourner.  When  untouched  by 
the  Jolly  Little  Sunbeams  the  neck  feathers  ap- 
peared to  be  in  color  very  like  his  breast,  but  the 
moment  they  were  touched  by  the  Jolly  Little 
Sunbeams  they  seemed  to  be  of  many  colors 
constantly  changing,  which,  as  you  know,  is  called 
iridescence.  Altogether  Mourner  was  lovely  in  a 
quiet  way. 

But  it  was  not  his  appearance  which  made  Pete 
stare ;  it  was  what  he  was  doing.  He  was  walking 
about  and  every  now  and  then  picking  up  some- 
thing quite  as  if  he  were  getting  his  breakfast  in 
that  gravel  pit,  and  Peter  couldn't  imagine  any- 
thing good  to  eat  down  there.  He  knew  that  there 
were  not  even  worms  there.  Besides,  Mourner  is 
not  fond  of  worms ;  he  lives  almost  altogether  on 
seeds  and  grains  of  many  kinds.  So  Peter  was 
puzzled.  But  as  you  know  he  isn't  the  kind  to 
puzzle  long  over  anything  when  he  can  use  his 
tongue. 

[254] 


Mourner  the  Dove  and  CucJcoo 

"Hello,  Mourner  !"  he  cried.  "What  under  the 
sun  are  you  doing  in  there  ?  Are  you  getting  your 
breakfast?" 

"Hardly,  Peter;  hardly,"  cooed  Mourner  in  the 
softest  of  voices.  "I've  had  my  breakfast  and  now 
I'm  picking  up  a  little  gravel  for  my  digestion." 
He  picked  up  a  tiny  pebble  and  swallowed  it. 

"Well,  of  all  things!"  cried  Peter.  "You  must 
be  crazy.  The  idea  of  thinking  that  gravel  is  going 
to  help  your  digestion.  I  should  say  the  chances 
are  that  it  will  work  just  the  other  way." 

Mourner  laughed.  It  was  the  softest  of  little 
cooing  laughs,  very  pleasant  to  hear.  "I  see  that 
as  usual  you  are  judging  others  by  yourself,"  said 
he.  "You  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  you 
can  do  nothing  more  foolish.  I  haven't  the  least 
doubt  that  a  breakfast  of  gravel  would  give  you 
the  worst  kind  of  a  stomach-ache.  But  you  are 
you  and  I  am  I,  and  there  is  all  the  difference  in  the 
world.  You  know  I  eat  grain  and  hard  seeds. 
Not  having  any  teeth  I  have  to  swallow  them 
whole.  One  part  of  my  stomach  is  called  a  gizzard 
and  its  duty  is  to  grind  and  crush  my  food  so  that 
it  may  be  digested.  Tiny  pebbles  and  gravel 
help  grind  the  food  and  so  aid  digestion.  I  think 
I've  got  enough  now  for  this  morning,  and  it  is  time 
for  a  dust  bath.  There  is  a  dusty  spot  over  in  the 
lane  where  I  take  a  dust  bath  every  day." 

[255] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 
"If  you  don't  mind,"  said  Peter,  "I'll  go  with 

you." 

Mourner  said  he  didn't  mind,  so  Peter  followed 
him  over  to  the  dusty  place  in  the  long  lane. 
There  Mourner  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Dove,  who  was 
dressed  very  much  like  him  save  that  she  did  not 
have  so  beautiful  a  neck.  While  they  thoroughly 
dusted  themselves  they  chatted  with  Peter. 

"I  see  you  on  the  ground  so  much  that  I've  often 
wondered  if  you  build  your  nest  on  the  ground," 
said  Peter. 

"No,"  replied  Mourner.  "Mrs.  Dove  builds  in 
a  tree,  but  usually  not  very  far  above  the  ground. 
Nov/  if  you'll  excuse  us  we  must  get  back  home. 
Mrs.  Dove  has  two  eggs  to  sit  on  and  while  she  is 
sitting  I  like  to  be  close  at  hand  to  keep  her 
company  and  make  love  to  her." 

The  Doves  shook  the  loose  dust  from  their 
feathers  and  flew  away.  Peter  watched  to  see 
where  they  went,  but  lost  sight  of  them  behind 
some  trees,  so  decided  to  run  up  to  the  Old  Orchard. 
There  he  found  Jenny  and  Mr.  Wren  as  busy  as  ever 
feeding  that  growing  family  of  theirs.  Jenny 
wouldn't  stop  an  instant  to  gossip.  Peter  was  so 
brimful  of  what  he  had  found  out  about  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Dove  that  he  just  had  to  tell  some  one.  He 
heard  Kitty  the  Catbird  meowing  among  the 
bushes  along  the  old  stone  wall,  so  hurried  over  to 

[256] 


$?cr/r£?n-J>i  tyu+rfff 


MOURNER    THE    DOVE.      You  may  surprise  him   taking  a  dust  bath  in  the 
road. 


Mourner  the  Dove  and  Cuckoo 

look  for  him.  As  soon  as  he  found  him  Peter  began 
to  tell  what  he  had  learned  about  Mourner  the 
Dove. 

"That's  no  news,  Peter,"  interrupted  Kitty. 
"I  know  all  about  Mourner  and  his  wife.  They 
are  very  nice  people,  though  I  must  say  Mrs.  Dove 
is  one  of  the  poorest  housekeepers  I  know  of.  I 
take  it  you  never  have  seen  her  nest." 

Peter  shook  his  head.  "No,"  said  he,  "I 
haven't.     What  is  it  like?" 

Kitty  the  Catbird  laughed.  "It's  about  the 
poorest  apology  for  a  nest  I  know  of,"  said  he. 
"It  is  made  of  little  sticks  and  mighty  few  of  them. 
How  they  hold  together  is  more  than  I  can  under- 
stand. I  guess  it  is  a  good  thing  that  Mrs.  Dove 
doesn't  lay  more  than  two  eggs,  and  it's  a  wonder 
to  me  that  those  two  stay  in  the  nest.  Listen ! 
There's  Mourner's  voice  now.  For  one  who  is 
so  happy  he  certainly  does  have  the  mournfullest 
sounding  voice.  To  hear  him  you'd  think  he  was 
sorrowful  instead  of  happy.  It  always  makes  me 
feel  sad  to  hear  him." 

"That's  true,"  replied  Peter,  "but  I  like  to  hear 
him  just  the  same.     Hello  !     Who's  that?" 

From  one  of  the  trees  in  the  Old  Orchard  sounded 
a  long,  clear,  "Kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow  !"  It 
was  quite  unlike  any  voice  Peter  had  heard  that 
spring. 

[257] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

"That's  Cuckoo,"  said  Kitty.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  don't  know  Cuckoo  ?" 

"Of  course  I  know  him,"  retorted  Peter.  "I 
had  forgotten  the  sound  of  his  voice,  that's  all." 
Tell  me,  Kitty,  is  it  true  that  Mrs.  Cuckoo  is  no 
better  than  Sally  Sly  the  Cowbird  and  goes  about 
laying  her  eggs  in  the  nests  of  other  birds?  I've 
heard  that  said  of  her." 

"There  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  it,"  declared 
Kitty  emphatically.  "She  builds  a  nest,  such  as 
it  is,  which  isn't  much,  and  she  looks  after  her  own 
children.  The  Cuckoos  have  been  given  a  bad 
name  because  of  some  good-for-nothing  cousins 
of  theirs  who  live  across  the  ocean  where  Bully  the 
English  Sparrow  belongs,  and  who,  if  all  reports 
are  true,  really  are  no  better  than  Sally  Sly  the 
Cowbird.  It's  funny  how  a  bad  name  sticks.  The 
Cuckoos  have  been  accused  of  stealing  the  eggs  of 
us  other  birds,  but  I've  never  known  them  to  do  it 
and  I've  lived  neighbor  to  them  for  a  long  time. 
I  guess  they  get  their  bad  name  because  of  their 
habit  of  slipping  about  silently  and  keeping  out  of 
sight  as  much  as  possible,  as  if  they  were  guilty 
of  doing  something  wrong  and  trying  to  keep  from 
being  seen.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  are  mighty 
useful  birds.  Farmer  Brown  ought  to  be  tickled 
to  death  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cuckoo  have  come 
back  to  the  Old  Orchard  this  year.' 

[258] 


»> 


Mourner  the  Dove  and  Cuckoo 

"Why?"  demanded  Peter. 

"Do  you  see  that  cobwebby  nest  with  all  those 
hairy  caterpillars  on  it  and  around  it  up  in  that 
tree?"  asked  Kitty. 

Peter  replied  that  he  did  and  that  he  had  seen 
a  great  many  nests  just  like  it,  and  had  noticed  how 
the  caterpillars  ate  all  the  leaves  near  them. 

"I'll  venture  to  say  that  you  won't  see  very 
many  leaves  eaten  around  that  nest,"  replied  Kitty. 
"Those  are  called  tent-caterpillars,  and  they  do 
an  awful  lot  of  damage.  I  can't  bear  them  myself 
because  they  are  so  hairy,  and  very  few  birds  will 
touch  them.  But  Cuckoo  likes  them.  There  he 
comes  now ;  just  watch  him." 

A  long,  slim  Dove-like  looking  bird  alighted 
close  to  the  caterpillar's  nest.  Above  he  was 
brownish-gray  with  just  a  little  greenish  tinge. 
Beneath  he  was  white.  His  wings  were  reddish- 
brown.  His  tail  was  a  little  longer  than  that  of 
Mourner  the  Dove.  The  outer  feathers  were 
black  tipped  with  white,  while  the  middle  feathers 
were  the  color  of  his  back.  The  upper  half  of  his 
bill  was  black,  but  the  under  half  was  yellow,  and 
from  this  he  is  called  the  Yellow-billed  Cuckoo. 
He  has  a  cousin  very  much  like  himself  in  ap- 
pearance, save  that  his  bill  is  all  black  and  he  is 
called  the  Black-billed  Cuckoo. 

Cuckoo  made  no  sound  but  began  to  pick  off  the 

[259] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

hairy  caterpillars  and  swallow  them.  When  he 
had  eaten  all  those  in  sight  he  made  holes  in  the 
silken  web  of  the  nest  and  picked  out  the  cater- 
pillars that  were  inside.  Finally,  having  eaten  his 
fill,  he  flew  off  as  silently  as  he  had  come  and 
disappeared  among  the  bushes  farther  along  the 
old  stone  wall.  A  moment  later  they  heard  his 
voice,   "Kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow !" 

"I  suppose  some  folks  would  think  that  it  is 
going  to  rain,"  remarked  Kitty  the  Catbird. 
"They  have  the  silly  notion  that  Cuckoo  only 
calls  just  before  rain,  and  so  they  call  him  the 
Rain  Crow.  But  that  isn't  so  at  all.  Well,  Peter, 
I  guess  I've  gossiped  enough  for  one  morning. 
I  must  go  see  how  Mrs.  Catbird  is  getting  along." 

Kitty  disappeared  and  Peter,  having  no  one  to 
talk  to,  decided  that  the  best  thing  he  could  do 
would  be  to  go  home  to  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch . 


[260] 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

rA  BUTCHER  AND  A  HUMMER 

Not  far  from  the  Old  Orchard  grew  a  thorn-tree 
which  Peter  Rabbit  often  passed.  He  never  had 
paid  particular  attention  to  it.  One  morning 
he  stopped  to  rest  under  it.  Happening  to  look 
up,  he  saw  a  most  astonishing  thing.  Fastened  on 
the  sharp  thorns  of  one  of  the  branches  were  three 
big  grasshoppers,  a  big  moth,  two  big  caterpillars, 
a  lizard,  a  small  mouse  and  a  young  English 
Sparrow.  Do  you  wonder  that  Peter  thought  he 
must  be  dreaming?  He  couldn't  imagine  how 
those  creatures  could  have  become  fastened  on 
those  long  sharp  thorns.  Somehow  it  gave  him  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  and  he  hurried  on  to  the  Old 
Orchard,  bubbling  over  with  desire  to  tell  some  one 
of  the  strange  and  dreadful  thing  he  had  seen  in  the 
thorn-tree. 

As  he  enterd  the  Old  Orchard  in  the  far  corner 
he  saw  Johnny  Chuck  sitting  on  his  doorstep  and 
hurried  over  to  tell  him  the  strange  news.  Johnny 
listened  until  Peter  was  through,  then  told  him 
quite  frankly  that  never  had  he  heard  of  such  a 

[261] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

thing,  and  that  he  thought  Peter  must  have  been 
dreaming  and  didn't  know  it. 

"You're  wrong,  Johnny  Chuck.  Peter  hasn't 
been  dreaming  at  all,"  said  Skimmer  the  Swallow, 
who,  you  remember,  lived  in  a  hole  in  a  tree  just 
above  the  entrance  to  Johnny  Chuck's  house.  He 
had  been  sitting  where  he  could  hear  all  that  Peter 
had  said. 

"Well,  if  you  know  so  much  about  it,  please 
explain,"  said  Johnny  Chuck  rather  crossly. 

"It's  simple  enough,"  replied  Skimmer.  "Peter 
just  happened  to  find  the  storehouse  of  Butcher 
the  Loggerhead  Shrike.  It  isn't  a  very  pleasant 
sight,  I  must  admit,  but  one  must  give  Butcher 
credit  for  being  smart  enough  to  lay  up  a  store  of 
food  when  it  is  plentiful." 

"And  who  is  Butcher  the  Shrike?"  demanded 
Peter.     "He's  a  new  one  to  me." 

"He's  new  to  this  location,"  replied  Skimmer, 
"  and  you  probably  haven't  noticed  him.  I've  seen 
him  in  the  South  often.  There  he  is  now,  on  the 
tiptop  of  that  tree  over  yonder." 

Peter  and  Johnny  looked  eagerly.  They  saw  a 
bird  who  at  first  glance  appeared  not  unlike  Mocker 
the  Mockingbird.  He  was  dressed  wholly  in  black, 
gray  and  white.  When  he  turned  his  head  they 
noticed  a  black  stripe  across  the  side  of  his  face 
and  that  the  tip  of  his  bill  was  hooked.     These 

[262] 


A  Butcher  and  a  Hummer 

were  enough  to  make  them  forget  that  otherwise 
he  was  like  Mocker.  While  they  were  watching 
him  he  flew  down  into  the  grass  and  picked  up  a 
grasshopper.  Then  he  flew  with  a  steady,  even 
flight,  only  a  little  above  the  ground,  for  some 
distance,  suddenly  shooting  up  and  returning  to 
the  perch  where  they  had  first  seen  him.  There 
he  ate  the  grasshopper  and  resumed  his  watch 
for  something  else  to  catch. 

"He  certainly  has  wonderful  eyes,"  said  Skim- 
mer admiringly.  "He  must  have  seen  that  grass- 
hopper way  over  there  in  the  grass  before  he  started 
after  it,  for  he  flew  straight  there.  He  doesn't 
waste  time  and  energy  hunting  aimlessly.  He  sits 
on  a  high  perch  and  watches  until  he  sees  something 
he  wants.  Many  times  I've  seen  him  sitting  on 
top  of  a  telegraph  pole.  I  understand  that  Bully 
the  English  Sparrow  has  become  terribly  nervous 
since  the  arrival  of  Butcher.  He  is  particularly 
fond  of  English  Sparrows.  I  presume  it  was  one 
of  Bully's  children  you  saw  in  the  thorn-tree, 
Peter.  For  my  part  I  hope  he'll  frighten  Bully  in- 
to leaving  the  Old  Orchard.  It  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  the  rest  of  us." 

"But  I  don't  understand  yet  why  he  fastens 
his  victims  on  those  long  thorns,"  said  Peter. 

"  For  two  reasons,"  replied  Skimmer.  '  When  he 
catches  more  grasshoppers  and  other  insects  than 

[263] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

he  can  eat,  he  sticks  them  on  those  thorns  so  that 
later  he  may  be  sure  of  a  good  meal  if  it  happens 
there  are  no  more  to  be  caught  when  he  is  hungry. 
Mice,  Sparrows,  and  things  too  big  for  him  to 
swallow  he  sticks  on  the  thorns  so  that  he  can  pull 
them  to  pieces  easier.  You  see  his  feet  and  claws 
are  not  big  and  stout  enough  to  hold  his  victims 
while  he  tears  them  to  pieces  with  his  hooked  bill. 
Sometimes,  instead  of  sticking  them  on  thorns, 
he  sticks  them  on  the  barbed  wire  of  a  fence  and 
sometimes  he  wedges  them  into  the  fork  of  two 
branches." 

"Does  he  kill  many  birds  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"Not  many,"  replied  Skimmer,  "and  most  of 
those  he  does  kill  are  English  Sparrows.  The  rest 
of  us  have  learned  to  keep  out  of  his  way.  He 
feeds  mostly  on  insects,  worms  and  caterpillars, 
but  he  is  very  fond  of  mice  and  he  catches  a  good 
many.  He  is  a  good  deal  like  Killy  the  Sparrow 
Hawk  in  this  respect.  He  has  a  cousin,  the  Great 
Northern  Shrike,  who  sometimes  comes  down  in  the 
winter,  and  is  very  much  like  him.  Hello !  Now 
what's  happened  ?" 

A  great  commotion  had  broken  out  not  far  away 
in  the  Old  Orchard.  Instantly  Skimmer  flew  over 
to  see  what  it  was  all  about  and  Peter  followed. 
He  got  there  just  in  time  to  see  Chatterer  the 
Red  Squirrel  dodging  around  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 

[  264  ] 


BUTCHER     THE    NORTHERN    SHRIKE.     His   cousin,    the    Loggerhead 


Shrike  looks  much  like  him. 


wsm 

SNIPPER    THE    CROSSBILL.      No  other  bird  has  the  tips  of  his  bill  crossed. 


A  Butcher  and  a  Hummer 

first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  to  avoid  the 
sharp  bills  of  the  angry  feathered  folk  who  had 
discovered  him  trying  to  rob  a  nest  of  its  young. 

Peter  chuckled.  "  Chatterer  is  getting  just  what 
is  due  him,  I  guess,"  he  muttered.  "It  reminds 
me  of  the  time  I  got  into  a  Yellow  Jacket's  nest. 
My,  but  those  birds  are  mad  !" 

Chatterer  continued  to  dodge  from  side  to  side 
of  the  tree  while  the  birds  darted  down  at  him,  all 
screaming  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  Finally 
Chatterer  saw  his  chance  to  run  for  the  old  stone 
wall.  Only  one  bird  was  quick  enough  to  catch  up 
with  him  and  that  one  was  such  a  tiny  fellow  that 
he  seemed  hardly  bigger  than  a  big  insect.  It  was 
Hummer  the  Hummingbird.  He  followed  Chat- 
terer clear  to  the  old  stone  wall.  A  moment  later 
Peter  heard  a  humming  noise  just  over  his  head 
and  looked  up  to  see  Hummer  himself  alight  on  a 
twig,  where  he  squeaked  excitedly  for  a  few 
minutes,  for  his  voice  is  nothing  but  a  little  squeak. 

Often  Peter  had  seen  Hummer  darting  about 
from  flower  to  flower  and  holding  himself  still  in 
mid-air  in  front  of  each  as  he  thrust  his  long  bill 
into  the  heart  of  the  blossom  to  get  the  tiny  insects 
there  and  the  sweet  juices  he  is  so  fond  of.  But 
this  was  the  first  time  Peter  had  ever  seen  him  sit- 
ting still.  He  was  such  a  mite  of  a  thing  that  it  was 
hard  to  realize  that  he  was  a  bird.     His  back  was 

[2Q5] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

a  bright,  shining  green.  His  wings  and  tail  were 
brownish  with  a  purplish  tinge.  Underneath  he 
was  whitish.  But  it  was  his  throat  on  which 
Peter  fixed  his  eyes.  It  was  a  wonderful  ruby-red 
that  glistened  and  shone  in  the  sun  like  a  jewel. 

Hummer  lifted  one  wing  and  with  his  long  needle- 
like bill  smoothed  the  feathers  under  it.  Then  he 
darted  out  into  the  air,  his  wings  moving  so  fast 
that  Peter  couldn't  see  them  at  all.  But  if  he 
couldn't  see  them  he  could  hear  them.  You  see 
they  moved  so  fast  that  they  made  a  sound  very 
like  the  humming  of  Bumble  the  Bee.  It  is  because 
of  this  that  he  is  called  the  Hummingbird.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  was  back  again  and  now  he  was 
joined  by  Mrs.  Hummer.  She  was  dressed  very 
much  like  Hummer  but  did  not  have  the  beautiful 
ruby  throat.  She  stopped  only  a  minute  or  two, 
then  darted  over  to  what  looked  for  all  the  world 
like  a  tiny  cup  of  moss.     It  was  their  nest. 

Just  then  Jenny  Wren  came  along,  and  being 
quite  worn  out  with  the  work  of  feeding  her  seven 
babies,  she  was  content  to  rest  for  a  few  moments 
and  gossip.     Peter  told  her  what  he  had  discovered. 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  retorted  Jenny.  "You 
don't  suppose  I  hunt  these  trees  over  for  food  with- 
out knowing  where  my  neighbors  are  living,  do 
you?  I'd  have  you  to  understand,  Peter,  that 
that  is  the  daintiest  nest  in  the  Old  Orchard.     It  is 


A  Butcher  and  a  Hummer 

made  wholly  of  plant  down  and  covered  on  the  out- 
side with  bits  of  that  gray  moss-like  stuff  that  grows 
on  the  bark  of  the  trees  and  is  called  lichens.  That 
is  what  makes  that  nest  look  like  nothing  more 
than  a  knot  on  the  branch.  Chatterer  made  a  big 
mistake  when  he  visited  this  tree.  Hummer  may 
be  a  tiny  fellow  but  he  isn't  afraid  of  anybody 
under  the  sun.  That  bill  of  his  is  so  sharp  and  he  is 
so  quick  that  few  folks  ever  bother  him  more  than 
once.  Why,  there  isn't  a  single  member  of  the 
Hawk  family  that  Hummer  won't  attack.  There 
isn't  a  cowardly  feather  on  him." 

"Does  he  go  very  far  south  for  the  winter?" 
asked  Peter.  "He  is  such  a  tiny  fellow  I  don't 
see  how  he  can  stand  a  very  long  journey." 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  Jenny  Wren.  "Distance 
doesn't  bother  Hummer  any.  You  needn't  worry 
about  those  wings  of  his.  He  goes  clear  down  to 
South  America.  He  has  ever  so  many  relatives 
down  there.  You  ought  to  see  his  babies  when 
they  first  hatch  out.  They  are  no  bigger  than  bees. 
But  they  certainly  do  grow  fast.  Why,  they  are 
flying  three  weeks  from  the  time  they  hatch.  I'm 
glad  I  don't  have  to  pump  food  down  the  throats  of 
my  youngsters  the  way  Mrs.  Hummingbird  has 
to  down  hers." 

Peter  looked  perplexed.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
pumping  food  down  their  throats  ?"  he  demanded. 

[267] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 


t( 


Just  what  I  say,"  retorted  Jenny  Wren.  "Mrs. 
Hummer  sticks  her  bill  right  clown  their  throats  and 
then  pumps  up  the  food  she  has  already  swallowed. 
I  guess  it  is  a  good  thing  that  the  babies  have  short 
bills." 

"Do  they?"  asked  Peter,  opening  his  eyes  very 
wide  with  surprise. 

"Yes,"  replied  Jenny.  "When  they  hatch  out 
they  have  short  bills,  but  it  doesn't  take  them  a 
great  while  to  grow  long." 

"How  many  babies  does  Mrs.  Hummer  usually 
have?"  asked  Peter. 

"Just  two,"  replied  Jenny.  "Just  two.  That's 
all  that  nest  will  hold.  But  goodness  gracious, 
Peter,  I  can't  stop  gossiping  here  any  longer.  You 
have  no  idea  what  a  care  seven  babies  are." 

With  a  jerk  of  her  tail  off  flew  Jenny  Wren,  and 
Peter  hurried  back  to  tell  Johnny  Chuck  all  he  had 
found  out  about  Hummer  the  Hummingbird. 


[*68] 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

A    STRANGER   AND    A    DANDY 

Butcher  the  Shrike  was  not  the  only  newcomer 
in  the  Old  Orchard.  There  was  another  stranger 
who,  Peter  Rabbit  soon  discovered,  was  looked 
on  with  some  suspicion  by  all  the  other  birds  of  the 
Old  Orchard.  The  first  time  Peter  saw  him,  he  was 
walking  about  on  the  ground  some  distance  off. 
He  didn't  hop  but  walked,  and  at  that  distance 
he  looked  all  black.  The  way  he  carried  himself 
and  his  movements  as  he  walked  made  Peter  think 
of  Creaker  the  Grackle.  In  fact,  Peter  mistook 
him  for  Creaker.  That  was  because  he  didn't 
really  look  at  him.  If  he  had  he  would  have  seen  at 
once  that  the  stranger  was  smaller  than  Creaker. 

Presently  the  stranger  flew  up  in  a  tree  and  Peter 
saw  that  his  tail  was  little  more  than  half  as  long  as 
that  of  Creaker.  At  once  it  came  over  Peter  that 
this  was  a  stranger  to  him,  and  of  course  his 
curiosity  was  aroused.  He  didn't  have  any  doubt 
whatever  that  this  was  a  member  of  the  Blackbird 
family,  but  which  one  it  could  be  he  hadn't  the 
least  idea.  "Jenny  Wren  will  know,"  thought 
Peter  and  scampered  off  to  hunt  her  up. 

[  269  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

"Who  is  that  new  member  of  the  Blackbird 
family  who  has  come  to  live  in  the  Old  Orchard  ?" 
Peter  asked  as  soon  as  he  found  Jenny  Wren. 

"There  isn't  any  new  member  of  the  Blackbird 
family  living  in  the  Old  Orchard,"  retorted  Jenny 
Wren  tartly. 

"There  is  too,"  contradicted  Peter.  " I  saw  him 
with  my  own  eyes.  I  can  see  him  now.  He's 
sitting  in  that  tree  over  yonder  this  very  minute. 
He's  all  black,  so  of  course  he  must  be  a  member  of 
the  Blackbird  family." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut!"  scolded  Jenny  Wren. 
"Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut,  tut !  That  fellow  isn't  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Blackbird  family  at  all,  and  what's 
more,  he  isn't  black.  Go  over  there  and  take  a 
good  look  at  him ;  then  come  back  and  tell  me  if 
you  still  think  he  is  black." 

Jenny  turned  her  back  on  Peter  and  went  to 
hunting  worms.  There  being  nothing  else  to  do, 
Peter  hopped  over  where  he  could  get  a  good  look 
at  the  stranger.  The  sun  was  shining  full  on  him, 
and  he  wasn't  black  at  all.  Jenny  Wren  was  right. 
For  the  most  part  he  was  very  dark  green.  At 
least,  that  is  what  Peter  thought  at  first  glance. 
Then,  as  the  stranger  moved,  he  seemed  to  be  a 
rich  purple  in  places.  In  short  he  changed  color 
as  he  turned.  His  feathers  were  like  those  of 
Creaker   the   Grackle  —  iridescent.     All   over  he 

[270] 


A  Stranger  and  a  Dandy 

was  speckled  with  tiny  light  spots.  Underneath 
he  was  dark  brownish-gray.  His  wings  and  tail 
were  of  the  same  color,  with  little  touches  of  buff. 
His  rather  large  bill  was  yellow. 

Peter  hurried  back  to  Jenny  Wren  and  it  must  be 
confessed  he  looked  sheepish.  "You  were  right, 
Jenny  Wren  ;  he  isn't  black  at  all,"  confessed  Peter. 

"Of  course  I  was  right.  I  usually  am,"  retorted 
Jenny.  "He  isn't  black,  he  isn't  even  related  to 
the  Blackbird  family,  and  he  hasn't  any  busi- 
ness in  the  Old  Orchard.  In  fact,  if  you  ask  me,  he 
hasn't  any  business  in  this  country  anyway.  He's 
a  foreigner.     That's  what  he  is  —  a  foreigner." 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  who  he  is,"  protested 
Peter. 

"He  is  Speckles  the  Starling,  and  he  isn't  really 
an  American  at  all,"  replied  Jenny.  "He  comes 
from  across  the  ocean  the  same  as  Bully  the  English 
Sparrow.  Thank  goodness  he  hasn't  such  a  quar- 
relsome disposition  as  Bully.  Just  the  same,  the 
rest  of  us  would  be  better  satisfied  if  he  were  not 
here.  He  has  taken  possession  of  one  of  the  old 
homes  of  Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker,  and  that  means 
one  less  house  for  birds  who  really  belong  here.  If 
his  family  increases  at  the  rate  Bully's  family  does, 
I'm  afraid  some  of  us  will  soon  be  crowded  out  of 
the  Old  Orchard.  Did  you  notice  that  yellow  bill 
of  his?" 

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The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

Peter  nodded.  "I  certainly  did,"  said  he.  "I 
couldn't  very  well  help  noticing  it." 
i  "Well,  there's  a  funny  thing  about  that  bill," 
replied  Jenny.  "In  winter  it  turns  almost  black. 
Most  of  us  wear  a  different  colored  suit  in  winter, 
but  our  bills  remain  the  same." 

"Well,  he  seems  to  be  pretty  well  fixed  here,  and 
I  don't  see  but  what  the  thing  for  the  rest  of  you 
birds  to  do  is  to  make  the  best  of  the  matter," 
said  Peter.  "What  I  want  to  know  is  whether  or 
not  he  is  of  any  use." 

"I  guess  he  must  do  some  good,"  admitted  Jenny 
Wren  rather  grudgingly.  "I've  seen  him  picking 
up  worms  and  grubs,  but  he  likes  grain,  and  I  have 
a  suspicion  that  if  his  family  becomes  very  numer- 
ous, and  I  suspect  it  will,  they  will  eat  more  of 
Farmer  Brown's  grain  than  they  will  pay  for  by  the 
worms  and  bugs  they  destroy.  Hello !  There's 
Dandy  the  Waxwing  and  his  friends." 

A  flock  of  modestly  dressed  yet  rather  distin- 
guished looking  feathered  folks  had  alighted  in  a 
cherry-tree  and  promptly  began  to  help  themselves 
to  Farmer  Brown's  cherries.  They  were  about  the 
size  of  Winsome  Bluebird,  but  did  not  look  in  the 
least  like  him,  for  they  were  dressed  almost  wholly 
in  beautiful,  rich,  soft  grayish-brown.  Across  the 
end  of  each  tail  was  a  yellow  band.  On  each,  the 
forehead,  chin  and  a  line  through  each  eye  was 

[272] 


s/*J?u.£rtc; 


DANDY    THE    CEDAR    WAXWING,    often    called    CHERRY    BIRD. 

You  can  tell  him  from  his  cousin  the  Bohemian  Waxwing  by  his  smaller  size. 


A  Stranger  and  a  Dandy 

velvety-black.  Each  wore  a  very  stylish  pointed 
cap,  and  on  the  wings  of  most  of  them  were  little 
spots  of  red  which  looked  like  sealing-wax,  and 
from  which  they  get  the  name  of  Waxwings. 
They  were  slim  and  trim  and  quite  dandified,  and 
in  a  quiet  way  were  really  beautiful. 

As  Peter  watched  them  he  began  to  wonder  if 
Farmer  Brown  would  have  any  cherries  left.  Peter 
himself  can  do  pretty  well  in  the  matter  of  stuffing 
his  stomach,  but  even  he  marvelled  at  the  way  those 
birds  put  the  cherries  out  of  sight.  It  was  quite 
clear  to  him  why  they  are  often  called  Cherrybirds. 

"If  they  stay  long,  Farmer  Brown  won't  have 
any  cherries  left,"  remarked  Peter. 

"Don't  worry,"  replied  Jenny  Wren.  "They 
won't  stay  long.  I  don't  know  anybody  equal  to 
them  for  roaming  about.  Here  are  most  of  us  with 
families  on  our  hands  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bluebird 
with  a  second  family  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robin  with 
a  second  set  of  eggs,  while  those  gadabouts  up  there 
haven't  even  begun  to  think  about  housekeeping 
yet.  They  certainly  do  like  those  cherries,  but  I 
guess  Farmer  Brown  can  stand  the  loss  of  what  they 
eat.  He  may  have  fewer  cherries,  but  he'll  have 
more  apples  because  of  them." 

"How's  that  ?"  demanded  Peter. 

"Oh,"  replied  Jenny  Wren,  "they  were  over  here 
a  while  ago  when  those  little  green  cankerworms 

[273] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

threatened  to  eat  up  the  whole  orchard,  and  they 
stuffed  themselves  on  those  worms  just  the  same  as 
they  are  stuffing  themselves  on  cherries  now.  They 
are  very  fond  of  small  fruits  but  most  of  those  they 
eat  are  the  wild  kind  which  are  of  no  use  at  all  to 
Farmer  Brown  or  anybody  else.  Now  just  look  at 
that  performance,  will  you  ?" 

There  were  five  of  the  Waxwings  and  they  were 
now  seated  side  by  side  on  a  branch  of  the  cherry- 
tree.  One  of  them  had  a  plump  cherry  which  he 
passed  to  the  next  one.  This  one  passed  it  on  to 
the  next,  and  so  it  went  to  the  end  of  the  row  and 
halfway  back  before  it  was  finally  eaten.  Peter 
laughed  right  out.  "Never  in  my  life  have  I  seen 
such  politeness,"  said  he. 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  Jenny  Wren.  "I  don't 
believe  it  was  politeness  at  all.  I  guess  if  you  got  at 
the  truth  of  the  matter  you  would  find  that  each 
one  was  stuffed  so  full  that  he  thought  he  didn't 
have  room  for  that  cherry  and  so  passed  it  along." 

"  Well,  I  think  that  was  politeness  just  the  same," 
retorted  Peter.  "The  first  one  might  have  dropped 
the  cherry  if  he  couldn't  eat  it  instead  of  passing 
it  along."     Just  then  the  Waxwings  flew  away. 

It  was  the  very  middle  of  the  summer  before 
Peter  Rabbit  again  saw  Dandy  the  Waxwing. 
Quite  by  chance  he  discovered  Dandy  sitting  on 
the  tiptop  of  an  evergreen  tree,  as  if  on  guard.     He 

[274] 


A  Stranger  and  a  Dandy 

was  on  guard,  for  in  that  tree  was  his  nest,  though 
Peter  didn't  know  it  at  the  time.  In  fact,  it  was 
so  late  in  the  summer  that  most  of  Peter's  friends 
were  through  nesting  and  he  had  quite  lost  interest 
in  nests.  Presently  Dandy  flew  down  to  a  lower 
branch  and  there  he  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Waxwing. 
Then  Peter  was  treated  to  one  of  the  prettiest  sights 
he  ever  had  seen.  They  rubbed  their  bills  together 
as  if  kissing.  They  smoothed  each  other's  feathers 
and  altogether  were  a  perfect  picture  of  two  little 
lovebirds.  Peter  couldn't  think  of  another  couple 
who  appeared  quite  so  gentle  and  loving. 

Late  in  the  fall  Peter  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waxwing 
and  their  family  together.  They  were  in  a  cedar 
tree  and  were  picking  off  and  eating  the  cedar- 
berries  as  busily  as  the  five  Waxwings  had  picked 
Farmer  Brown's  cherries  in  the  early  summer. 
Peter  didn't  know  it  but  because  of  their  fondness 
for  cedar  berries  the  Waxwings  were  often  called 
Cedarbirds  or  Cedar  Waxwings. 


[275] 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

FAREWELLS    AND    WELCOMES 

All  through  the  long  summer  Peter  Rabbit 
watched  his  feathered  friends  and  learned  things 
in  regard  to  their  ways  he  never  had  suspected. 
As  he  saw  them  keeping  the  trees  of  the  Old 
Orchard  free  of  insect  pests  working  in  Farmer 
Brown's  garden,  and  picking  up  the  countless  seeds 
of  weeds  everywhere,  he  began  to  understand  some- 
thing of  the  wonderful  part  these  feathered  folks 
have  in  keeping  the  Great  World  beautiful  and 
worth  while  living  in. 

He  had  many  a  hearty  laugh  as  he  watched  the 
bird  babies  learn  to  fly  and  to  find  their  own  food. 
All  summer  long  they  were  going  to  school  all  about 
him,  learning  how  to  watch  out  for  danger,  to  use 
their  eyes  and  ears,  and  all  the  things  a  bird  must 
know  who  would  live  to  grow  up. 

As  autumn  drew  near  Peter  discovered  that  his 
friends  were  gathering  in  flocks,  roaming  here  and 
there.  It  was  one  of  the  first  signs  that  summer 
was  nearly  over,  and  it  gave  him  just  a  little  feeling 
of  sadness.  He  heard  few  songs  now,  for  the  sing- 
ing season  was  over.     Also  he  discovered  that  many 

[276] 


Farewells  and  Welcomes 

of  the  most  beautifully  dressed  of  his  feathered 
friends  had  changed  their  finery  for  sober  traveling 
suits  in  preparation  for  the  long  journey  to  the  far 
South  where  they  would  spend  the  winter.  In  fact 
he  actually  failed  to  recognize  some  of  them  at  first. 

September  came,  and  as  the  days  grew  shorter, 
some  of  Peter's  friends  bade  him  good-by.  They 
were  starting  on  the  long  journey,  planning  to  take 
it  in  easy  stages  for  the  most  part.  Each  day  saw 
some  slip  away.  As  Peter  thought  of  the  dangers 
of  the  long  trip  before  them  he  wondered  if  he 
would  ever  see  them  again.  But  some  there  were 
who  lingered  even  after  Jack  Frost's  first  visit. 
Welcome  and  Mrs.  Robin,  Winsome  and  Mrs. 
Bluebird,  Little  Friend  the  Song  Sparrow  and  his 
wife  were  among  these.  By  and  by  even  they  were 
forced  to  leave. 

Sad  indeed  and  lonely  would  these  days  have 
been  for  Peter  had  it  not  been  that  with  the  de- 
parture of  the  friends  he  had  spent  so  many  happy 
hours  with  came  the  arrival  of  certain  other  friends 
from  the  Far  North  where  they  had  made  their 
summer  homes.  Some  of  these  stopped  for  a  few 
days  in  passing.  Others  came  to  stay,  and  Peter 
was  kept  busy  looking  for  and  welcoming  them. 
A  few  old  friends  there  were  who  would  stay  the 
year  through.  Sammy  Jay  was  one.  Downy  and 
Hairy  the  Woodpeckers  were  others.     And  one 

[277] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

there   was    whom    Peter    loves    dearly.     It   was 
Tommy  Tit  the  Chickadee. 

Now  Tommy  Tit  had  not  gone  north  in  the 
spring.  In  fact,  he  had  made  his  home  not  very 
far  from  the  Old  Orchard.  It  just  happened  that 
Peter  hadn't  found  that  home,  and  had  caught  only 
one  or  two  glimpses  of  Tommy  Tit.  Now,  with 
household  cares  ended  and  his  good-sized  family 
properly  started  in  life,  Tommy  Tit  was  no  longer 
interested  in  the  snug  little  home  he  had  built  in  a 
hollow  birch-stub,  and  he  and  Mrs.  Chickadee  spent 
their  time  flitting  about  hither,  thither,  and  yon, 
spreading  good  cheer.  Every  time  Peter  visited 
the  Old  Orchard  he  found  him  there,  and  as  Tommy 
was  always  ready  for  a  bit  of  merry  gossip,  Peter 
soon  ceased  to  miss  Jenny  Wren. 

"Don't  you  dread  the  winter,  Tommy  Tit?" 
asked  Peter  one  day,  as  he  watched  Tommy  cling- 
ing head  down  to  a  twig  as  he  picked  some  tiny 
insect  eggs  from  the  under  side. 

"Not  a  bit,"  replied  Tommy.  "I  like  winter. 
I  like  cold  weather.  It  makes  a  fellow  feel  good 
from  the  tips  of  his  claws  to  the  tip  of  his  bill. 
I'm  thankful  I  don't  have  to  take  that  long  journey 
most  of  the  birds  have  to.  I  discovered  a  secret  a 
long  time  ago,  Peter ;  shall  I  tell  it  to  you  ?" 

"Please,  Tommy,"  cried  Peter.  "You  know 
how  I  love  secrets." 

[278] 


Farewells  and  Welcomes 

"Well,"  replied  Tommy  Tit,  "this  is  it:  If  a 
fellow  keeps  his  stomach  filled  he  will  keep  his  toes 
warm." 

Peter  looked  a  little  puzzled.  "I  —  I  —  don't 
just  see  what  your  stomach  has  to  do  with  your 
toes,"  said  he. 

Tommy  Tit  chuckled.  It  was  a  lovely  throaty 
little  chuckle.  "Dee,  dee,  dee  !"  said  he.  "What 
I  mean  is,  if  a  fellow  has  plenty  to  eat  he  will  keep 
the  cold  out,  and  I've  found  that  if  a  fellow  uses  his 
eyes  and  isn't  afraid  of  a  little  work,  he  can  find 
plenty  to  eat.  At  least  I  can.  The  only  time  I 
ever  get  really  worried  is  when  the  trees  are  covered 
with  ice.  If  it  were  not  that  Farmer  Brown's  boy 
is  thoughtful  enough  to  hang  a  piece  of  suet  in  a 
tree  for  me,  I  should  dread  those  ice  storms  more 
than  I  do.  As  I  said  before,  plenty  of  food  keeps 
a  fellow  warm." 

"I  thought  it  was  your  coat  of  feathers  that  kept 
you  warm,"  said  Peter. 

"Oh,  the  feathers  help,"  replied  Tommy  Tit. 
"Food  makes  heat  and  a  warm  coat  keeps  the  heat 
in  the  body.  But  the  heat  has  got  to  be  there 
first,  or  the  feathers  will  do  no  good.  It's  just  the 
same  way  with  your  own  self,  Peter.  You  know 
you  are  never  really  warm  in  winter  unless  you 
have  plenty  to  eat." 

"That's   so,"   replied   Peter   thoughtfully.     "I 

[279] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

never  happened  to  think  of  it  before.  Just  the 
same,  I  don't  see  how  you  find  food  enough  on  the 
trees  when  they  are  all  bare  in  winter." 

"Dee,  dee,  Chickadee! 
Leave  that  matter  just  to  me," 

chuckled  Tommy  Tit.  "You  ought  to  know  by 
this  time,  Peter  Rabbit,  that  a  lot  of  different  kinds 
of  bugs  lay  eggs  on  the  twigs  and  trunks  of  trees. 
Those  eggs  would  stay  there  all  winter  and  in  the 
spring  hatch  out  into  lice  and  worms  if  it  were  not 
for  me.  Why,  sometimes  in  a  single  day  I  find  and 
eat  almost  five  hundred  eggs  of  those  little  green 
plant  lice  that  do  so  much  damage  in  the  spring 
and  summer.  Then  there  are  little  worms  that 
bore  in  just  under  the  bark,  and  there  are  other 
creatures  who  sleep  the  winter  away  in  little  cracks 
in  the  bark.  Oh,  there  is  plenty  for  me  to  do  in  the 
winter.  I  am  one  of  the  policemen  of  the  trees. 
Downy  and  Hairy  the  Woodpeckers,  Seep-Seep  the 
Brown  Creeper  and  Yank- Yank  the  Nuthatch  are 
others.  If  we  didn't  stay  right  here  on  the  job  all 
winter,  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of  the  Old 
Orchard." 

Tommy  Tit  hung  head  downward  from  a  twig 
while  he  picked  some  tiny  insect  eggs  from  the 
under  side  of  it.  It  didn't  seem  to  make  the  least 
difference  to  Tommy  whether  he  was  right  side  up 

[280] 


/  W4 

TOMMY   TIT   THE   CHICKADEE.     Tommy  will  introduce  himself. 
YANK-YANK    THE    WHITE-BREASTED    NUTHATCH.     A    winter 

visitor  who  goes  down  a  tree  head  first. 


Farewells  and  Welcomes 

or  upside  down.  He  was  a  little  animated  bunch 
of  black  and  white  feathers,  not  much  bigger  than 
Jenny  Wren.  The  top  of  his  head,  back  of  his 
neck  and  coat  were  shining  black.  The  sides  of 
his  head  and  neck  were  white.  His  back  was  ashy. 
His  sides  were  a  soft  cream-buff,  and  his  wing  and 
tail  feathers  were  edged  with  white.  His  tiny  bill 
was  black,  and  his  little  black  eyes  snapped  and 
twinkled  in  a  way  good  to  see.  Not  one  among 
all  Peter's  friends  is  such  a  merry-hearted  little 
fellow  as  Tommy  Tit  the  Chickadee.  Merriment 
and  happiness  bubble  out  of  him  all  the  time,  no 
matter  what  the  weather  is.  He  is  the  friend  of 
everyone  and  seems  to  feel  that  everyone  is  his 
friend. 

"I've  noticed,"  said  Peter,  "that  birds  who  do 
not  sing  at  any  other  time  of  year  sing  in  the 
spring.  Do  you  have  a  spring  song,  Tommy 
Tit?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  you  would  call  it  a  song, 
Peter,"  chuckled  Tommy.  "No,  I  hardly  think 
you  would  call  it  a  song.  But  I  have  a  little 
love  call  then  which  goes  like  this :  Phoe-be ! 
Phoe-be !" 

It  was  the  softest,  sweetest  little  whistle,  and 
Tommy  had  rightly  called  it  a  love  call.  "Why, 
I've  often  heard  that  in  the  spring  and  didn't 
know  it  was  your  voice  at  all,"  cried  Peter.     "You 

[  281  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

say  Phoebe  plainer  than  does  the  bird  who  is  named 
Phoebe,  and  it  is  ever  so  much  softer  and  sweeter. 
I  guess  that  is  because  you  whistle  it." 

"I  guess  you  guess  right,"  replied  Tommy  Tit. 
"Now  I  can't  stop  to  talk  any  longer.  These 
trees  need  my  attention.  I  want  Farmer  Brown's 
boy  to  feel  that  I  have  earned  that  suet  I  am  sure 
he  will  put  out  for  me  as  soon  as  the  snow  and  ice 
come.  I'm  not  the  least  bit  afraid  of  Farmer 
Brown's  boy.  I  had  just  as  soon  take  food  from 
his  hand  as  from  anywhere  else.  He  knows  I  like 
chopped-up  nut-meats,  and  last  winter  I  used  to 
feed  from  his  hand  every  day." 

Peter's  eyes  opened  very  wide  with  surprise. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  he,  "that  you  and 
Farmer  Brown's  boy  are  such  friends  that  you  dare 
sit  on  his  hand?" 

Tommy  Tit  nodded  his  little  black-capped  head 
vigorously.  "Certainly,"  said  he.  "Why  not? 
What's  the  good  of  having  friends  if  you  can't  trust 
them  ?  The  more  you  trust  them  the  better  friends 
they'll  be." 

P  "Just  the  same,  I  don't  see  how  you  dare  do  it," 
Peter  replied.  "  I  know  Farmer  Brown's  boy  is  the 
friend  of  all  the  little  people,  and  I'm  not  much 
afraid  of  him  myself,  but  just  the  same  I  wouldn't 
dare  go  near  enough  for  him  to  touch  me." 

"Pooh!"    retorted    Tommy    Tit.     "That's    no 

[282] 


Farewells  and  Welcomes 

way  of  showing  true  friendship.  You've  no  idea, 
Peter,  what  a  comfortable  feeling  it  is  to  know  that 
you  can  trust  a  friend,  and  I  feel  that  Farmer 
Brown's  boy  is  one  of  the  best  friends  I've  got. 
I  wish  more  boys  and  girls  were  like  him." 


[288] 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

HONKER    AND    DIPPY    ARRIVE 

The  leaves  of  the  trees  turned  yellow  and  red 
and  brown  and  then  began  to  drop,  a  few  at  first, 
then  more  and  more  every  day  until  all  but  the 
spruce-trees  and  the  pine-trees  and  the  hemlock- 
trees  and  the  fir-trees  and  the  cedar-trees  were 
bare.  By  this  time  most  of  Peter's  feathered 
friends  of  the  summer  had  departed,  and  there  were 
days  when  Peter  had  oh,  such  a  lonely  feeling. 
The  fur  of  his  coat  was  growing  thicker.  The 
grass  of  the  Green  Meadows  had  turned  brown. 
All  these  things  were  signs  which  Peter  knew  well. 
He  knew  that  rough  Brother  North  Wind  and  Jack 
Frost  were  on  their  way  down  from  the  Far  North. 

Peter  had  few  friends  to  visit  now.  Johnny 
Chuck  had  gone  to  sleep  for  the  winter  'way  down 
in  his  little  bedroom  under  ground.  Grandfather 
Frog  had  also  gone  to  sleep.  So  had  Old  Mr.  Toad. 
Peter  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  dear  Old 
Briar-patch  just  sitting  still  and  listening.  What 
he  was  listening  for  he  didn't  know.  It  just  seemed 
to  him  that  there  was  something  he  ought  to  hear 

[284] 


Honker  and  Dippy  Arrive 

at  this  time  of  year,  and  so  he  sat  listening  and  listen- 
ing and  wondering  what  he  was  listening  for.  Then, 
late  one  afternoon,  there  came  floating  down  to 
him  from  high  up  in  the  sky,  faintly  at  first  but 
growing  louder,  a  sound  unlike  any  Peter  had  heard 
all  the  long  summer  through.  The  sound  was  a 
voice.  Rather  it  was  many  voices  mingled  — 
"Honk,  honk,  honk,  k'honk,  honk,  honk,  k'honk  !" 
Peter  gave  a  little  jump. 

"That's  what  I've  been  listening  for !"  he  cried. 
"Honker  the  Goose  and  his  friends  are  coming. 
Oh,  I  do  hope  they  will  stop  where  I  can  pay  them 
a  call." 

He  hopped  out  to  the  edge  of  the  dear  Old  Briar- 
patch  that  he  might  see  better,  and  looked  up  in 
the  sky.  High  up,  flying  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  V, 
he  saw  a  flock  of  great  birds  flying  steadily  from 
the  direction  of  the  Far  North.  By  the  sound  of 
their  voices  he  knew  that  "they  had  flown  far  that 
day  and  were  tired.  One  bird  was  in  the  lead  and 
this  he  knew  to  be  his  old  friend,  Honker.  Straight 
over  his  head  they  passed  and  as  Peter  listened  to 
their  voices  he  felt  within  him  the  very  spirit  of  the 
Far  North,  that  great,  wild,  lonely  land  which  he 
had  never  seen  but  of  which  he  had  so  often  heard. 

As  Peter  watched,  Honker  suddenly  turned  and 
headed  in  the  direction  of  the  Big  River.  Then  he 
began  to  slant  down,  his  flock  following  him.     And 

[285] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

presently  they  disappeared  behind  the  trees  along 
the  bank  of  the  Great  River.  Peter  gave  a  happy 
little  sigh.  "They  are  going  to  spend  the  night 
there,"  thought  he.  "When  the  moon  comes  up, 
I  will  run  over  there,  for  they  will  come  ashore  and 
I  know  just  where.  Now  that  they  have  arrived 
I  know  that  winter  is  not  far  away.  Honker's 
voice  is  as  sure  a  sign  of  the  coming  of  winter  as  is 
Winsome  Bluebird's  that  spring  will  soon  be  here." 

Peter  could  hardly  wait  for  the  coming  of  the 
Black  Shadows,  and  just  as  soon  as  they  had  crept 
out  over  the  Green  Meadows  he  started  for  the 
Big  River.  He  knew  just  where  to  go,  because  he 
knew  that  Honker  and  his  friends  would  rest  and 
spend  the  night  in  the  same  place  they  had  stopped 
at  the  year  before.  He  knew  that  they  would  re- 
main out  in  the  middle  of  the  Big  River  until  the 
Black  Shadows  had  made  it  quite  safe  for  them 
to  swim  in.  He  reached  the  bank  of  the  Big  River 
just  as  sweet  Mistress  Moon  was  beginning  to 
throw  her  silvery  light  over  the  Great  World. 
There  was  a  sandy  bar  in  the  Great  River  at  this 
point,  and  Peter  squatted  on  the  bank  just  where 
this  sandy  bar  began.     . 

It  seemed  to  Peter  that  he  had  sat  there  half  the 
night,  but  really  it  was  only  a  short  time,  before 
he  heard  a  low  signal  out  in  the  Black  Shadows 
which  covered  the  middle  of  the  Big  River.     It  was 

_  [  286  ] 


Honker  and  Dippy  Arrive 

the  voice  of  Honker.  Then  Peter  saw  little  silvery 
lines  moving  on  the  water  and  presently  a  dozen 
great  shapes  appeared  in  the  moonlight.  Honker 
and  his  friends  were  swimming  in.  The  long  neck 
of  each  of  those  great  birds  was  stretched  to  its 
full  height,  and  Peter  knew  that  each  bird  was 
listening  for  the  slightest  suspicious  sound.  Slowly 
they  drew  near,  Honker  in  the  lead.  They  were 
a  picture  of  perfect  caution.  When  they  reached 
the  sandy  bar  they  remained  quiet,  looking  and 
listening  for  some  time.  Then,  sure  that  all  was 
safe,  Honker  gave  a  low  signal  and  at  once  a  low 
gabbling  began  as  the  big  birds  relaxed  their 
watchfulness  and  came  out  on  the  sandy  bar,  all 
save  one.  That  one  was  the  guard,  and  he  re- 
mained with  neck  erect  on  watch.  Some  swam  in 
among  the  rushes  growing  in  the  water  very  near  to 
where  Peter  was  sitting  and  began  to  feed.  Others 
sat  on  the  sandy  bar  and  dressed  their  feathers. 
Honker  himself  came  ashore  close  to  where  Peter 
was  sitting. 

"Oh,  Honker,"  cried  Peter,  "I'm  so  glad  you're 
back  here  safe  and  sound." 

Honker  gave  a  little  start,  but  instantly  recogniz- 
ing Peter,  came  over  close  to  him.  As  he  stood 
there  in  the  moonlight  he  was  truly  handsome. 
His  throat  and  a  large  patch  on  each  side  of  his 
head  were  white.     The  rest  of  his  head  and  long, 

[287] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

slim  neck  were  black.  His  short  tail  was  also  black. 
His  back,  wings,  breast  and  sides  were  a  soft  gray- 
ish-brown. He  was  white  around  the  base  of  his 
tail  and  he  wore  a  white  collar. 

"Hello,  Peter,"  said  he.  "It  is  good  to  have  an 
old  friend  greet  me.  I  certainly  am  glad  to  be 
back  safe  and  sound,  for  the  hunters  with  terrible 
guns  have  been  at  almost  every  one  of  our  resting 
places,  and  it  has  been  hard  work  to  get  enough 
to  eat.  It  is  a  relief  to  find  one  place  where  there 
are  no  terrible  guns." 

"Have  you  come  far  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"Very  far,  Peter;  very  far,"  replied  Honker. 
"And  we  still  have  very  far  to  go.  I  shall  be  thank- 
ful when  the  journey  is  over,  for  on  me  depends 
the  safety  of  all  those  with  me,  and  it  is  a  great 
responsibility." 

"Will  winter  soon  be  here  ?"  asked  Peter  eagerly. 

"Rough  Brother  North  Wind  and  Jack  Frost 
are  right  behind  us,"  replied  Honker.  "You  know 
we  stay  in  the  Far  North  just  as  long  as  we  can. 
Already  the  place  where  we  nested  is  frozen  and 
covered  with  snow.  For  the  first  part  of  the 
journey  we  kept  only  just  ahead  of  the  snow  and 
ice,  but  as  we  drew  near  to  where  men  make  their 
homes  we  were  forced  to  make  longer  journeys 
each  day,  for  the  places  where  it  is  safe  to  feed  and 
rest  are  few  and  far  between.     Now  we  shall  hurry 

[288] 


Honker  and  Dippy  Arrive 

on  until  we  reach  the  place  in  the  far-away  South 
where  we  will  make  our  winter  home." 

Just  then  Honker  was  interrupted  by  wild, 
strange  sounds  from  the  middle  of  the  Great  River. 
It  sounded  like  crazy  laughter.  Peter  jumped  at 
the  sound,  but  Honker  merely  chuckled.  "It's 
Dippy  the  Loon,"  said  he.  "  He  spent  the  summer 
in  the  Far  North  not  far  from  us.  He  started 
south  just  before  we  did." 

"I  wish  he  would  come  in  here  so  that  I  can  get 
a  good  look  at  him  and  make  his  acquaintance," 
said  Peter. 

"  He  may,  but  I  doubt  it,"  replied  Honker.  "  He 
and  his  mate  are  great  people  to  keep  by  themselves. 
Then,  too,  they  don't  have  to  come  ashore  for  food. 
You  know  Dippy  feeds  altogether  on  fish.  He 
really  has  an  easier  time  on  the  long  journey  than 
we  do,  because  he  can  get  his  food  without  running 
so  much  risk  of  being  shot  by  the  terrible  hunters. 
He  practically  lives  on  the  water.  He's  about  the 
most  awkward  fellow  on  land  of  any  one  I  know." 

'  Why  should  he  be  any  more  awkward  on  land 
then  you?"  asked  Peter,  his  curiosity  aroused  at 
once. 

"Because,"  replied  Honker,  "Old  Mother 
Nature  has  given  him  very  short  legs  and  has 
placed  them  so  far  back  on  his  body  that  he  can't 
keep  his  balance  to  walk,  and  has  to  use  his  wings 

[289] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

and  bill  to  help  him  over  the  ground.  On  shore  he 
is  about  the  most  helpless  thing  you  can  imagine. 
But  on  water  he  is  another  fellow  altogether. 
He's  just  as  much  at  home  under  water  as  on  top. 
My,  how  that  fellow  can  dive !  When  he  sees  the 
flash  of  a  gun  he  will  get  under  water  before  the 
shot  can  reach  him.  That's  where  he  has  the 
advantage  of  us  Geese.  You  know  we  can't  dive. 
He  could  swim  clear  across  this  river  under  water 
if  he  wanted  to,  and  he  can  go  so  fast  under  water 
that  he  can  catch  a  fish.  It  is  because  his  legs  have 
been  placed  so  far  back  that  he  can  swim  so  fast. 
You  know  his  feet  are  nothing  but  big  paddles. 
Another  funny  thing  is  that  he  can  sink  right  down 
in  the  water  when  he  wants  to,  with  nothing  but  his 
head  out.  I  envy  him  that.  It  would  be  a  lot 
easier  for  us  Geese  to  escape  the  dreadful  hunters  if 
we  could  sink  down  that  way." 

"Has  he  a  bill  like  yours?"  asked  Peter  in- 
nocently. 

"Of  course  not,"  replied  Honker.  "Didn't  I  tell 
you  that  he  lives  on  fish  ?  How  do  you  suppose  he 
would  hold  on  to  his  slippery  fish  if  he  had  a  broad 
bill  like  mine  ?  His  bill  is  stout,  straight  and  sharp 
pointed.  He  is  rather  a  handsome  fellow.  He  is 
pretty  nearly  as  big  as  I  am,  and  his  back,  wings, 
tail  and  neck  are  black  with  bluish  or  greenish  ap- 
pearance in  the   sun.     His  back   and   wings   are 

[290] 


Honker  and  Dippy  Arrive 

spotted  with  white,  and  there  are  streaks  of  white 
on  his  throat  and  the  sides  of  his  neck.  On  his 
breast  and  below  he  is  all  white.  You  certainly 
ought  to  get  acquainted  with  Dippy,  Peter,  for 
there  isn't  anybody  quite  like  him." 

"I'd  like  to,"  replied  Peter.  "But  if  he  never 
comes  to  shore,  how  can  I  ?  I  guess  I  will  have  to 
be  content  to  know  him  just  by  his  voice.  I 
certainly  never  will  forget  that.  It's  about  as 
crazy  sounding  as  the  voice  of  Old  Man  Coyote, 
and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal." 

"There's  one  thing  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  said 
Honker.  "  Dippy  can't  fly  from  the  land ;  he  must 
be  on  the  water  in  order  to  get  up  in  the  air." 

"You  can,  can't  you  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"Of  course  I  can,"  replied  Honker.  "Why,  we 
Geese  get  a  lot  of  our  food  on  land.  When  it  is 
safe  to  do  so  we  visit  the  grain  fields  and  pick  up 
the  grain  that  has  been  shaken  out  during  harvest. 
Of  course  we  couldn't  do  that  if  we  couldn't  fly 
from  the  land.  We  can  rise  from  either  land  or 
water  equally  well.  Now  if  you'll  excuse  me, 
Peter,  I'll  take  a  nap.  My,  but  I'm  tired !  And 
I've  got  a  long  journey  to-morrow." 

So  Peter  politely  bade  Honker  and  his  relatives 
good-night  and  left  them  in  peace  on  the  sandy  bar 
in  the  Big  River. 

[291] 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

PETER   DISCOVERS   TWO   OLD   FRIENDS 

Rough  Brother  North  Wind  and  Jack  Frost 
were  not  far  behind  Honker  the  Goose.  In  a  night 
Peter  Rabbit's  world  was  transformed.  It  had 
become  a  new  world,  a  world  of  pure  white.  The 
last  laggard  among  Peter's  feathered  friends  who 
spend  the  winter  in  the  far-away  South  had  hurried 
away.  Still  Peter  was  not  lonely.  Tommy  Tit's 
cheery  voice  greeted  Peter  the  very  first  thing  that 
morning  after  the  storm.  Tommy  seemed  to  be  in 
just  as  good  spirits  as  ever  he  had  been  in  summer. 

Now  Peter  rather  likes  the  snow.  He  likes  to 
run  about  in  it,  and  so  he  followed  Tommy  Tit  up 
to  the  Old  Orchard.  He  felt  sure  that  he  would 
find  company  there  besides  Tommy  Tit,  and  he  was 
not  disappointed.  Downy  and  Hairy  the  Wood- 
peckers were  getting  their  breakfast  from  a  piece 
of  suet  Farmer  Brown's  boy  had  thoughtfully 
fastened  in  one  of  the  apple-trees  for  them. 
Sammy  Jay  was  there  also,  and  his  blue  coat  never 
had  looked  better  than  it  did  against  the  pure  white 
of  the  snow. 

[  292  ] 


Peter  Discovers  Two  Old  Friends 

These  were  the  only  ones  Peter  really  had  ex- 
pected to  find  in  the  Old  Orchard,  and  so  you  can 
guess  how  pleased  he  was  as  he  hopped  over  the  old 
stone  wall  to  hear  the  voice  of  one  whom  he  had 
almost  forgotten.  It  was  the  voice  of  Yank- Yank 
the  Nuthatch,  and  while  it  was  far  from  being 
sweet  there  was  in  it  something  of  good  cheer  and 
contentment.  At  once  Peter  hurried  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  it  came. 

On  the  trunk  of  an  apple-tree  he  caught  sight  of  a 
gray  and  black  and  white  bird  about  the  size  of 
Downy  the  Woodpecker.  The  top  of  his  head  and 
upper  part  of  his  back  were  shining  black.  The 
rest  of  his  back  was  bluish-gray.  The  sides  of  his 
head  and  his  breast  were  white.  The  outer  feath- 
ers of  his  tail  were  black  with  white  patches  near 
their  tips. 

But  Peter  didn't  need  to  see  how  Yank-Yank  was 
dressed  in  order  to  recognize  him.  Peter  would 
have  known  him  if  he  had  been  so  far  away  that 
the  colors  of  his  coat  did  not  show  at  all.  You  see, 
Yank- Yank  was  doing  a  most  surprising  thing, 
something  no  other  bird  can  do.  He  was  walking 
head  first  down  the  trunk  of  that  tree,  picking  tiny 
eggs  of  insects  from  the  bark  and  seemingly  quite  as 
much  at  home  and  quite  as  unconcerned  in  that 
queer  position  as  if  he  were  right  side  up. 

As  Peter  approached,  Yank- Yank  lifted  his  head 

[293] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

and  called  a  greeting  which  sounded  very  much 
like  the  repetition  of  his  own  name.  Then  he 
turned  around  and  began  to  climb  the  tree  as  easily 
as  he  had  come  down  it. 

"Welcome  home,  Yank-Yank!"  cried  Peter, 
hurrying  up  quite  out  of  breath. 

Yank- Yank  turned  around  so  that  he  was  once 
more  head  down,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  as  he  looked 
down  at  Peter.  "You're  mistaken,  Peter,"  said 
he.  "This  isn't  home.  I've  simply  come  down 
here  for  the  winter.  You  know  home  is  where  you 
raise  your  children,  and  my  home  is  in  the  Great 
Woods  farther  north.  There  is  too  much  ice  and 
snow  up  there,  so  I  have  come  down  here  to  spend 
the  winter." 

"Well,  anyway,  it's  a  kind  of  home;  it's  your 
winter  home,"  protested  Peter,  "and  I  certainly 
am  glad  to  see  you  back.  The  Old  Orchard 
wouldn't  be  quite  the  same  without  you.  Did  you 
have  a  pleasant  summer?  And  if  you  please, 
Yank-Yank,  tell  me  where  you  built  your  home  and 
what  it  was  like." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Curiosity,  I  had  a  very  pleasant  sum- 
mer," replied  Yank- Yank.  "Mrs.  Yank- Yank 
and  I  raised  a  family  of  six  and  that  is  doing  a  lot 
better  than  some  folks  I  know,  if  I  do  say  it.  As 
to  our  nest,  it  was  made  of  leaves  and  feathers  and 
it  was  in  a  hole  in  a  certain  old  stump  that  not  a 

[  294  ] 


Peter  Discovers  Two  Old  Friends 

soul  knows  of  but  Mrs.  Yank- Yank  and  myself. 
Now  is  there  anything  else  you  want  to  know  ?" 

"Yes,"  retorted  Peter  promptly.  "I  want  to 
know  how  it  is  that  you  can  walk  head  first  down 
the  trunk  of  a  tree  without  losing  your  balance 
and  tumbling  off." 

Yank- Yank  chuckled  happily.  "I  discovered  a 
long  time  ago,  Peter,"  said  he,  "that  the  people 
who  get  on  best  in  this  world  are  those  who  make 
the  most  of  what  they  have  and  waste  no  time 
wishing  they  could  have  what  other  people  have. 
I  suppose  you  have  noticed  that  all  the  Woodpecker 
family  have  stiff  tail  feathers  and  use  them  to  brace 
themselves  when  they  are  climbing  a  tree.  They 
have  become  so  dependent  on  them  that  they  don't 
dare  move  about  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree  without 
using  them.  If  they  want  to  come  down  a  tree 
they  have  to  back  down. 

"Now  Old  Mother  Nature  didn't  give  me  stiff 
tail  feathers,  but  she  gave  me  a  very  good  pair  of 
feet  with  three  toes  in  front  and  one  behind  and 
when  I  was  a  very  little  fellow  I  learned  to  make 
the  most  of  those  feet.  Each  toe  has  a  sharp  claw. 
When  I  go  up  a  tree  the  three  front  claws  on 
each  foot  hook  into  the  bark.  When  I  come  down 
a  tree  I  simply  twist  one  foot  around  so  that  I  can 
use  the  claws  of  this  foot  to  keep  me  from  falling. 
It  is  just  as  easy  for  me  to  go  down  a  tree  as  it  is  to 

1395] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

go  up,  and  I  can  go  right  around  the  trunk  just  as 
easily  and  comfortably."  Suiting  action  to  the 
word,  Yank- Yank  ran  around  the  trunk  of  the 
apple-tree  just  above  Peter's  head.  When  he 
reappeared  Peter  had  another  question  ready. 

"Do  you  live  altogether  on  grubs  and  worms 
and  insects  and  their  eggs  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  should  say  not!"  exclaimed  Yank-Yank. 
"I  like  acorns  and  beechnuts  and  certain  kinds  of 
seeds." 

"I  don't  see  how  such  a  little  fellow  as  you  can 
eat  such  hard  things  as  acorns  and  beechnuts," 
protested  Peter  a  little  doubtfully. 

Yank- Yank  laughed  right  out.  "Sometime 
when  I  see  you  over  in  the  Green  Forest  I'll  show 
you,"  said  he.  "When  I  find  a  fat  beechnut  I  take 
it  to  a  little  crack  in  a  tree  that  will  just  hold  it ; 
then  with  this  stout  bill  of  mine  I  crack  the  shell. 
It  really  is  quite  easy  when  you  know  how.  Crack- 
ing a  nut  open  that  way  is  sometimes  called  hatch- 
ing, and  that  is  how  I  come  by  the  name  of  Nut- 
hatch. Hello  !  There's  Seep-Seep.  I  haven't  seen 
him  since  we  were  together  up  North.  His  home 
was  not  far  from  mine." 

As  Yank-Yank  spoke,  a  little  brown  bird  alighted 
at  the  very  foot  of  the  next  tree.  He  was  just  a 
trifle  bigger  than  Jenny  Wren  but  not  at  all  like 
Jenny,  for  while  Jenny's  tail  usually  is  cocked  up 

[298] 


Peter  Discovers  Two  Old  Friends 

in  the  sauciest  way,  Seep-Seep's  tail  is  never  cocked 
up  at  all.  In  fact,  it  bends  down,  for  Seep-Seep 
uses  his  tail  just  as  the  members  of  the  Woodpecker 
family  use  theirs.  He  was  dressed  in  grayish-brown 
above  and  grayish -white  beneath.  Across  each 
wing  was  a  little  band  of  buffy-white,  and  his  bill 
was  curved  just  a  little. 

Seep-Seep  didn't  stop  an  instant  but  started  up 
the  trunk  of  that  tree,  going  round  and  round  it  as 
he  climbed,  and  picking  out  things  to  eat  from 
under  the  bark.  His  way  of  climbing  that  tree  was 
very  like  creeping,  and  Peter  thought  to  himself 
that  Seep-Seep  was  well  named  the  Brown  Creeper. 
He  knew  it  was  quite  useless  to  try  to  get  Seep-Seep 
to  talk.  He  knew  that  Seep-Seep  wouldn't  waste 
any  time  that  way. 

Round  and  round  up  the  trunk  of  the  tree  he 
went,  and  when  he  reached  the  top  at  once  flew 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  next  tree  and  without  a 
pause  started  up  that.  He  wasted  no  time  ex- 
ploring the  branches,  but  stuck  to  the  trunk. 
Once  in  a  while  he  would  cry  in  a  thin  little  voice, 
"Seep!  Seep!"  but  never  paused  to  rest  or  look 
around.  If  he  had  felt  that  on  him  alone  depended 
the  job  of  getting  all  the  insect  eggs  and  grubs  on 
those  trees  he  could  not  have  been  more  industrious. 

"Does  he  build  his  nest  in  a  hole  in  a  tree?" 
asked  Peter  of  Yank- Yank. 

[297] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

'  Yank- Yank  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  replied. 
"He  hunts  for  a  tree  or  stub  with  a  piece  of  loose 
bark  hanging  to  it.  In  behind  this  he  tucks  his 
nest  made  of  twigs,  strips  of  bark  and  moss.  He's 
a  funny  little  fellow  and  I  don't  know  of  any  one  in 
all  the  great  world  who  more  strictly  attends  to 
his  own  business  than  does  Seep-Seep  the  Brown 
Creeper.  By  the  way,  Peter,  have  you  seen  any- 
thing of  Dotty  the  Tree  Sparrow  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Peter,  "but  I  think  he  must 
be  here.  I'm  glad  you  reminded  me  of  him.  I'll 
go  look  for  him." 


[298] 


CHAPTER  XL> 

SOME  MERRY  SEED-EATERS 

Having  been  reminded  of  Dotty  the  Tree  Spar- 
row, Peter  Rabbit  became  possessed  of  a  great 
desire  to  find  this  little  friend  of  the  cold  months 
and  learn  how  he  had  fared  through  the  summer. 
He  was  at  loss  just  where  to  look  for  Dotty  until  he 
remembered  a  certain  weedy  field  along  the  edge 
of  which  the  bushes  had  been  left  growing.  "Per- 
haps I'll  find  him  there,"  thought  Peter,  for  he 
remembered  that  Dotty  lives  almost  wholly  on 
seeds,  chiefly  weed  seeds,  and  that  he  dearly  loves  a 
weedy  field  with  bushes  not  far  distant  in  which  he 
can  hide. 

So  Peter  hurried  over  to  the  weedy  field  and 
there,  sure  enough,  he  found  Dotty  with  a  lot  of  his 
friends.  They  were  very  busy  getting  their  break- 
fast. Some  were  clinging  to  the  weed-stalks> 
picking  the  seeds  out  of  the  tops,  while  others  were 
picking  up  the  seeds  from  the  ground.  It  was 
cold.  Rough  Brother  North  Wind  was  doing  his 
best  to  blow  up  another  snow-cloud.  It  wasn't 
at  all  the  kind  of  day  in  which  one  would  expect 
to  find  anybody  in  high  spirits.     But  Dotty  was. 

[299] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

He  was  even  singing  as  Peter  came  up,  and  all 
about  Dotty's  friends  and  relatives  were  twittering 
as  happily  and  merrily  as  if  it  were  the  beginning 
of  spring  instead  of  winter. 

Dotty  was  very  nearly  the  size  of  Little  Friend 
the  Song  Sparrow  and  looked  somewhat  like  him, 
save  that  his  breast  was  clear  ashy-gray,  all  but 
a  little  dark  spot  in  the  middle,  the  little  dot  from 
which  he  gets  his  name.  He  wore  a  chestnut  cap, 
almost  exactly  like  that  of  Chippy  the  Chipping 
Sparrow.  It  reminded  Peter  that  Dotty  is  often 
called  the  Winter  Chippy. 

"Welcome  back,  Dotty  !"  cried  Peter.  "It  does 
my  heart  good  to  see  you.' 

"Thank  you,  Peter,"  twittered  Dotty  happily. 
"In  a  way  it  is  good  to  be  back.  Certainly  it  is 
good  to  know  that  an  old  friend  is  glad  to  see  me." 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  all  winter,  Dotty  ?"  asked 
Peter. 

"I  hope  so,"  replied  Dotty.  "I  certainly  shall  if 
the  snow  does  not  get  so  deep  that  I  cannot  get 
enough  to  eat.  Some  of  these  weeds  are  so  tall 
that  it  will  take  a  lot  of  snow  to  cover  them,  and 
as  long  as  the  tops  are  above  the  snow  I  will  have 
nothing  to  worry  about.  You  know  a  lot  of  seeds 
remain  in  these  tops  all  winter.  But  if  the  snow 
gets  deep  enough  to  cover  these  I  shall  have  to 
move  along  farther  south." 

[  300  ] 


Some  Merry  Seed-Eaters 

"Then  I  hope  there  won  t  be  much  snow," 
declared  Peter  very  emphatically.  "There  are 
few  enough  folks  about  in  winter  at  best,  goodness 
knows,  and  I  don't  know  of  any  one  I  enjoy  having 
for  a  neighbor  more  than  I  do  you." 

"Thank  you  again,  Peter,"  cried  Dotty,  "and 
please  let  me  return  the  compliment.  I  like  cold 
weather.  I  like  winter  when  there  isn't  too  much 
ice  and  bad  weather.  I  always  feel  good  in  cold 
weather.     That  is  one  reason  I  go  north  to  nest." 

"Speaking  of  nests,  do  you  build  in  a  tree?" 
inquired  Peter. 

"Usually  on  or  near  the  ground,"  replied  Dotty. 
"You  know  I  am  really  a  ground  bird  although  I 
am  called  a  Tree  Sparrow.  Most  of  us  Sparrows 
spend  our  time  on  or  near  the  ground." 

"I  know,"  replied  Peter.  "Do  you  know  I'm 
very  fond  of  the  Sparrow  family.  I  just  love  your 
cousin  Chippy,  who  nests  in  the  Old  Orchard  every 
spring.  I  wish  he  would  stay  all  winter.  I  really 
don't  see  why  he  doesn't.  I  should  think  he  could 
if  you  can." 

Dotty  laughed.  It  was  a  tinkling  little  laugh, 
good  to  hear.  "Cousin  Chippy  would  starve  to 
death,"  he  declared.  "It  is  all  a  matter  of  food. 
You  ought  to  know  that  by  this  time,  Peter. 
Cousin  Chippy  lives  chiefly  on  worms  and  bugs 
and  I  live  almost  wholly  on  seeds,  and  that  is  what 

[  301  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

makes  the  difference.  Cousin  Chippy  must  go 
where  he  can  get  plenty  to  eat.  I  can  get  plenty 
here  and  so  I  stay." 

"  Did  you  and  your  relatives  come  down  from  the 
Far  North  alone  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"No,"  replied  Dotty  promptly.  "Slaty  the 
Junco  and  his  relatives  came  along  with  us  and  we 
had  a  very  merry  party." 

Peter  pricked  up  his  ears.  "  Is  Slaty  here  now  ?" 
he  asked  eagerly. 

"Very  much  here,"  replied  a  voice  right  behind 
Peter's  back.  It  was  so  unexpected  that  it  made 
Peter  jump.  He  turned  to  find  Slaty  himself 
chuckling  merrily  as  he  picked  up  seeds.  He  was 
very  nearly  the  same  size  as  Dotty  but  trimmer. 
In  fact  he  was  one  of  the  trimmest,  neatest  appear- 
ing of  all  of  Peter's  friends.  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing Slaty  the  Junco  for  any  other  bird.  His  head, 
throat  and  breast  were  clear  slate  color.  Under- 
neath he  was  white.  His  sides  were  grayish.  His 
outer  tail  feathers  were  white.  His  bill  was  flesh 
color.     It  looked  almost  white. 

"Welcome  !  Welcome  !"  cried  Peter.  "Are  you 
here  to  stay  all  winter  ?" 

"I  certainly  am,"  was  Slaty 's  prompt  response. 
"It  will  take  pretty  bad  weather  to  drive  me  away 
from  here.  If  the  snow  gets  too  deep  I'll  just  go 
up  to  Farmer  Brown's  barnyard.     I  can  always 

[302] 


Some  Merry  Seed-Eaters 

pick  up  a  meal  there,  for  Farmer  Brown's  boy  is  a 
very  good  friend  of  mine.  I  know  he  won't  let 
me  starve,  no  matter  what  the  weather  is.  I  think 
it  is  going  to  snow  some  more.  I  like  the  snow. 
You  know  I  am  sometimes  called  the  Snowbird." 

Peter  nodded.  "So  I  have  heard,"  said  he, 
"though  I  think  that  name  really  belongs  to  Snow- 
flake  the  Snow  Bunting." 

"Quite  right,  Peter,  quite  right,"  replied  Slaty. 
"I  much  prefer  my  own  name  of  Junco.  My, 
these  seeds  are  good  !"  All  the  time  he  was  busily 
picking  up  seeds  so  tiny  that  Peter  didn't  even  see 
them. 

"If  you  like  here  so  much  why  don't  you  stay  all 
the  year?"  inquired  Peter. 

"It  gets  too  warm,"  replied  Slaty  promptly. 
"I  hate  hot  weather.  Give  me  cold  weather  every 
time." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  it  is  cold  all  sum- 
mer where  you  nest  in  the  Far  North  ?"  demanded 
Peter. 

"Not  exactly  cold,"  replied  Slaty,  "but  a  lot 
cooler  than  it  is  down  here.  I  don't  go  as  far  north 
to  nest  as  Snowflake  does,  but  I  go  far  enough 
to  be  fairly  comfortable.  I  don't  see  how  some 
folks  can  stand  hot  weather." 

"It  is  a  good  thing  they  can,"  interrupted 
Dotty.     "If  everybody  liked  the  same  things  it 

[303] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

wouldn't  do  at  all.  Just  suppose  all  the  birds  ate 
nothing  but  seeds.  There  wouldn't  be  seeds  enough 
to  go  around,  and  a  lot  of  us  would  starve.  Then, 
too,  the  worms  and  the  bugs  would  eat  up  every- 
thing. So,  take  it  all  together,  it  is  a  mighty  good 
thing  that  some  birds  live  almost  wholly  on  worms 
and  bugs  and  such  things,  leaving  the  seeds  to  the 
rest  of  us.  I  guess  Old  Mother  Nature  knew  what 
she  was  about  when  she  gave  us  different  tastes." 

Peter  nodded  his  head  in  approval.  "You  can 
always  trust  Old  Mother  Nature  to  know  what  is 
best,"  said  he  sagely.  "By  the  way,  Slaty,  what 
do  you  make  your  nest  of  and  where  do  you  put  it  ?" 

"My  nest  is  usually  made  of  grasses,  moss  and 
rootlets.  Sometimes  it  is  lined  with  fine  grasses, 
and  when  I  am  lucky  enough  to  find  them  I  use 
long  hairs.  Often  I  put  my  nest  on  the  ground, 
and  never  very  far  above  ii.  I  am  like  my  friend 
Dotty  in  this  respect.  It  always  seems  to  me 
easier  to  hide  a  nest  on  the  ground  than  anywhere 
else.  There  is  nothing  like  having  a  nest  well 
hidden.  It  takes  sharp  eyes  to  find  my  nest,  I  can 
tell  you  that,  Peter  Rabbit." 

Just  then  Dotty,  who  had  been  picking  seeds  out 
of  the  top  of  a  weed,  gave  a  cry  of  alarm  and  in- 
stantly there  was  a  flit  of  many  wings  as  Dotty 
and  his  relatives  and  Slaty  sought  the  shelter  of  the 
bushes  along  the  edge  of  the  field.     Peter  sat  up 

[  304  ] 


Some  Merry  Seed-Eaters 

very  straight  and  looked  this  way  and  looked 
that  way.  At  first  he  saw  nothing  suspicious. 
Then,  crouching  flat  among  the  weeds,  he  got  a 
glimpse  of  Black  Pussy,  the  cat  from  Farmer 
Brown's  house.  She  had  been  creeping  up  in  the 
hope  of  catching  one  of  those  happy  little  seed- 
eaters.  Peter  stamped  angrily.  Then  with  long 
jumps  he  started  for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch, 
lipperty-lipperty-lip,  for  truth  to  tell,  big  as  he  was, 
he  was  a  little  afraid  of  Black  Pussy. 


[305] 


CHAPTER  XLI 

MORE  FRIENDS  COME  WITH  THE  SNOW 

Slaty  the  Junco  had  been  quite  right  in  thinking 
it  was  going  to  snow  some  more.  Rough  Brother 
North  Wind  hurried  up  one  big  cloud  after  another, 
and  late  that  afternoon  the  white  feathery  flakes 
came  drifting  down  out  of  the  sky.  Peter  Rabbit 
sat  tight  in  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch.  In  fact  Peter 
did  no  moving  about  that  night,  but  remained 
squatting  just  inside  the  entrance  to  an  old  hole 
Johnny  Chuck's  grandfather  had  dug  long  ago  in  the 
middle  of  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch.  Some  time 
before  morning  the  snow  stopped  falling  and  then 
rough  Brother  North  Wind  worked  as  hard  to  blow 
away  the  clouds  as  he  had  done  to  bring  them. 

When  jolly,  round,  bright  Mr.  Sun  began  his 
daily  climb  up  in  the  blue,  blue  sky  he  looked  down 
on  a  world  of  white.  It  seemed  as  if  every  little 
snowflake  twinkled  back  at  every  little  sunbeam. 
It  was  all  very  lovely,  and  Peter  Rabbit  rejoiced  as 
he  scampered  forth  in  quest  of  his  breakfast. 

He  started  first  for  the  weedy  field  where  the  day 
before  he  had  found  Dotty  the  Tree  Sparrow  and 

[306] 


More  Friends  Come  With  the  Snow 

Slaty  the  Junco.  They  were  there  before  him, 
having  the  very  best  time  ever  was  as  they  picked 
seeds  from  the  tops  of  the  weeds  which  showed 
above  the  snow.  Almost  at  once  Peter  discovered 
that  they  were  not  the  only  seekers  for  seeds. 
Walking  about  on  the  snow,  and  quite  as  busy  seek- 
ing seeds  as  were  Dotty  and  Slaty,  was  a  bird  very 
near  their  size  the  top  of  whose  head,  neck  and 
back  were  a  soft  rusty-brown.  There  was  some 
black  on  his  wings,  but  the  latter  were  mostly 
white  and  the  outer  tail  feathers  were  white.  His 
breast  and  under  parts  were  white.  It  was  Snow- 
flake  the  Snow  Bunting  in  his  winter  suit.  Peter 
knew  him  instantly.  There  was  no  mistaking  him, 
for,  as  Peter  well  knew,  there  is  no  other  bird  of 
his  size  and  shape  who  is  so  largely  white.  He  had 
appeared  so  unexpectedly  that  it  almost  seemed  as 
if  he  must  have  come  out  of  the  snow  clouds  just 
as  had  the  snow  itself.  Peter  had  his  usual  ques- 
tion ready. 

"Are  you  going  to  spend  the  winter  here,  Snow- 
flake?"  he  cried. 

Snowflake  was  so  busy  getting  his  breakfast  that 
he  did  not  reply  at  once.  Peter  noticed  that  he  did 
not  hop,  but  walked  or  ran.  Presently  he  paused 
long  enough  to  reply  to  Peter's  question.  "If  the 
snow  has  come  to  stay  all  winter,  perhaps  I'll  stay," 
said  he. 

[307] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 


a- 


;What  has  the  snow  to  do  with  it?"  demanded 
Peter. 

"Only  that  I  like  the  snow  and  I  like  cold 
weather.  When  the  snow  begins  to  disappear,  I 
just  naturally  fly  back  farther  north,"  replied  Snow- 
flake.  "It  isn't  that  I  don't  like  bare  ground, 
because  I  do,  and  I'm  always  glad  when  the  snow 
is  blown  off  in  places  so  that  I  can  hunt  for  seeds  on 
the  ground.  But  when  the  snow  begins  to  melt 
everywhere  I  feel  uneasy.  I  can't  understand  how 
folks  can  be  contented  where  there  is  no  snow  and 
ice.  You  don't  catch  me  going  'way  down  south. 
No,  siree,  you  don't  catch  me  going  'way  down 
south.  Why,  when  the  nesting  season  comes 
around,  I  chase  Jack  Frost  clear  'way  up  to  where 
he  spends  the  summer.  I  nest  'way  up  on  the  shore 
of  the  Polar  Sea,  but  of  course  you  don't  know 
where  that  is,  Peter  Rabbit." 

"If  you  are  so  fond  of  the  cold  in  the  Far  North, 
the  snow  and  the  ice,  what  did  you  come  south  at 
all  for  ?  Why  don't  you  stay  up  there  all  the  year 
around?"  demanded  Peter. 

"Because,  Peter,"  replied  Sn£>wflake,  twittering 
merrily,  "like  everybody  else,  I  have  to  eat  in  order 
to  live.  When  you  see  me  down  here  you  may 
know  that  the  snows  up  north  are  so  deep  that  they 
have  covered  all  the  seeds.  I  always  keep  a 
weather  eye  out,  as  the  saying  is,  and  the  minute 

[  308  ] 


W 


"<*Wa 


mm 


r 


- 


SNOWFLAKE    THE    SNOW    BUNTING,  the  one  small   bird  who  is  largely 
white. 

WANDERER    THE   HORNED   LARK.      His  yellow  throat  and  forehead  and 
the  two  little  tufts  of  feathers,  like  tiny  horns,  will  always  identity  him. 


More  Friends  Come  With  the  Snow 

it  looks  as  if  there  would  be  too  much  snow  for  me 
to  get  a  living,  I  move  along.  I  hope  I  will  not 
have  to  go  any  farther  than  this,  but  if  some 
morning  you  wake  up  and  find  the  snow  so  deep 
that  all  the  heads  of  the  weeds  are  buried,  don't 
expect  to  find  me." 

"That's  what  I  call  good,  sound  common  sense," 
said  another  voice,  and  a  bird  a  little  bigger  than 
Snowflake,  and  who  at  first  glance  seemed  to  be 
dressed  almost  wholly  in  soft  chocolate  brown, 
alighted  in  the  snow  close  by  and  at  once  began  to 
run  about  in  search  of  seeds.  It  was  Wanderer  the 
Horned  Lark.  Peter  hailed  him  joyously,  for  there 
was  something  of  mystery  about  Wanderer,  and 
Peter,  as  you  know,  loves  mystery. 

Peter  had  known  him  ever  since  his  first  winter, 
yet  did  not  feel  really  acquainted,  for  Wanderer 
seldom  stayed  long  enough  for  a  real  acquaintance. 
Every  winter  he  would  corne,  sometimes  two  or  three 
times,  but  seldom  staying  more  than  a  few  days  at 
a  time.  Quite  often  he  and  his  relatives  appeared 
with  the  Snowflakes,  for  they  are  the  best  of  friends 
and  travel  much  together. 

Now  as  Wanderer  reached  up  to  pick  seeds  from 
a  weed-top,  Peter  had  a  good  look  at  him.  The 
first  things  he  noticed  were  the  two  little  horn-like 
tufts  of  black  feathers  above  and  behind  the  eyes. 
It  is  from  these  that  Wanderer  gets  the  name  of 

[309] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

Horned  Lark.  No  other  bird  has  anything  quite 
like  them.  His  forehead,  a  line  over  each  eye,  and 
his  throat  were  yellow.  There  was  a  black  mark 
from  each  corner  of  the  bill  curving  downward  just 
below  the  eye  and  almost  joining  a  black  crescent- 
shaped  band  across  the  breast.  Beneath  this  he 
was  soiled  white  with  dusky  spots  showing  here 
and  there.  His  back  was  brown,  in  places  having 
almost  a  pinkish  tinge.  His  tail  was  black,  showing 
a  little  white  on  the  edges  when  he  flew.  All 
together  he  was  a  handsome  little  fellow. 

"Do  all  of  your  family  have  those  funny  little 
horns  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"No,"  was  Wanderer's  prompt  reply.  "Mrs. 
Lark  does  not  have  them." 

"I  think  they  are  very  becoming,"  said  Peter 
politely. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Wanderer.  "I  am  in- 
clined to  agree  with  you.  You  should  see  me  when 
I  have  my  summer  suit. " 

"Is  it  so  very  different  from  this  ?"  asked  Peter. 
"I  think  your  present  suit  is  pretty  enough. " 

"Well  said,  Peter,  well  said,"  interrupted 
Snowflake.  "I  quite  agree  with  you.  I  think 
Wanderer's  present  suit  is  pretty  enough  for  any 
one,  but  it  is  true  that  his  summer  suit  is  even 
prettier.  It  isn't  so  very  different,  but  it  is 
brighter,    and    those    black   markings    are    much 

[310] 


More  Friends  Come  With  the  Snow 

stronger  and  show  up  better.  You  see,  Wanderer 
is  one  of  my  neighbors  in  the  Far  North,  and  I 
know  all  about  him." 

"And  that  means  that  you  don't  know  any- 
thing bad  about  me,  doesn't  it?"  chuckled  Wan- 
derer. 

Snowflake  nodded.  "Not  a  thing,"  he  replied. 
"I  wouldn't  ask  for  a  better  neighbor.  You  should 
hear  him  sing,  Peter.  He  sings  up  in  the  air,  and  it 
really  is  a  very  pretty  song. " 

"I'd  just  love  to  hear  him,"  replied  Peter. 
"Why  don't  you  sing  here,  Wanderer?" 

"This  isn't  the  singing  season,"  replied  Wan- 
derer promptly.  "Besides,  there  isn't  time  to  sing 
when  one  has  to  keep  busy  every  minute  in  order 
to  get  enough  to  eat. " 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Peter,  "why,  when  you  get 
here,  you  don't  stay  in  one  place. " 

"Because  it  is  easier  to  get  a  good  living  by 
moving  about,"  replied  Wanderer  promptly.  "Be- 
sides, I  like  to  visit  new  places.  I  shouldn't  enjoy 
being  tied  down  in  just  one  place  like  some  birds 
I  know.     Would  you,  Snowflake?" 

Snowflake  promptly  replied  that  he  wouldn't. 
Just  then  Peter  discovered  something  that  he 
hadn't  known  before.  "My  goodness,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "what  a  long  claw  you  have  on  each  hind 
toe!" 

[311] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

It  was  true.  Each  hind  claw  was  about  twice  as 
long  as  any  other  claw.  Peter  couldn't  see  any 
special  use  for  it  and  he  was  just  about  to  ask 
more  about  it  when  Wanderer  suddenly  spied  a 
flock  of  his  relatives  some  distance  away  and  flew 
to  join  them.  Probably  this  saved  him  some 
embarrassment,  for  it  is  doubtful  if  he  himself 
knew  why  Old  Mother  Nature  had  given  him  such 
long  hind  claws. 


[312] 


CHAPTER  XLII 

PETER    LEARNS    SOMETHING   ABOUT    SPOOKY 

Peter  Rabbit  likes  winter.  At  least  he  doesn't 
mind  it  so  very  much,  even  though  he  has  to  really 
work  for  a  living.  Perhaps  it  is  a  good  thing  that 
he  does,  for  he  might  grow  too  fat  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  Reddy  Fox.  You  see  when  the  snow  is 
deep  Peter  is  forced  to  eat  whatever  he  can,  and 
very  often  there  isn't  much  of  anything  for  him  but 
the  bark  of  young  trees.  It  is  at  such  times  that 
Peter  gets  into  mischief,  for  there  is  no  bark  he 
likes  better  than  that  of  young  fruit  trees.  Now 
you  know  what  happens  when  the  bark  is  taken  off 
all  the  way  around  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  That  tree 
dies.  It  dies  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  is  up  the 
inner  layer  of  bark  that  the  life-giving  sap  travels 
in  the  spring  and  summer.  Of  course,  when  a 
strip  of  bark  has  been  taken  off  all  the  way  around 
near  the  base  of  a  tree,  the  sap  cannot  go  up  and 
the  tree  must  die. 

Now  up  near  the  Old  Orchard  Farmer  Brown  had 
set  out  a  young  orchard.  Peter  knew  all  about 
that  young  orchard,  for  he  had  visited  it  many 
times  in  the  summer.     Then  there  had  been  plenty 

[313] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

of  sweet  clover  and  other  green  things  to  eat,  and 
Peter  had  never  been  so  much  as  tempted  to  sample 
the  bark  of  those  young  trees.  But  now  things 
were  very  different,  and  it  was  very  seldom  that 
Peter  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  full  stomach. 
He  kept  thinking  of  that  young  orchard.  He  knew 
that  if  he  were  wise  he  would  keep  away  from  there. 
But  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  just  must  have  some  of  that  tender 
young  bark.  So  just  at  dusk  one  evening,  Peter 
started  for  the  young  orchard. 

Peter  got  there  in  safety  and  his  eyes  sparkled  as 
he  hopped  over  to  the  nearest  young  tree.  But 
when  he  reached  it,  Peter  had  a  dreadful  disap- 
pointment. All  around  the  trunk  of  that  young 
tree  was  wire  netting.  Peter  couldn't  get  even  a 
nibble  of  that  bark.  He  tried  the  next  tree  with 
no  better  result.  Then  he  hurried  on  from  tree  to 
tree,  always  with  the  same  result.  You  see  Farmer 
Brown  knew  all  about  Peter's  liking  for  the  bark 
of  young  fruit  trees,  and  he  had  been  wise  enough  to 
protect  his  young  orchard. 

At  last  Peter  gave  up  and  hopped  over  to  the 
Old  Orchard.  As  he  passed  a  certain  big  tree  he 
was  startled  by  a  voice.  "What's  the  matter, 
Peter  ?"  said  the  voice.     "You  don't  look  happy. " 

Peter  stopped  short  and  stared  up  in  the  big 
apple-tree.      Look  as  he  would  he  couldn't  see 

[314] 


Peter  Learns  Something  About  Spooky 

anybody.  Of  course  there  wasn't  a  leaf  on  that 
tree,  and  he  could  see  all  through  it.  Peter  blinked 
and  felt  foolish.  He  knew  that  had  there  been 
any  one  sitting  on  any  one  of  those  branches  he 
couldn't  have  helped  seeing  him. 

"Don't  look  so  high,  Peter;  don't  look  so  high," 
said  the  voice  with  a  chuckle.  This  time  it  sounded 
as  if  it  came  right  out  of  the  trunk  of  the  tree. 
Peter  stared  at  the  trunk  and  then  suddenly 
laughed  right  out.  Just  a  few  feet  above  the 
ground  was  a  good  sized  hole  in  the  tree,  and  poking 
his  head  out  of  it  was  a  funny  little  fellow  with  big 
eyes  and  a  hooked  beak. 

"You  certainly  did  fool  me  that  time,  Spooky," 
cried  Peter.  "I  ought  to  have  recognized  your 
voice,  but  I  didn't. " 

Spooky  the  Screech  Owl,  for  that  is  who  it  was, 
came  out  of  the  hole  in  the  tree  and  without  a 
sound  from  his  wings  flew  over  and  perched  just 
above  Peter's  head.  He  was  a  little  fellow,  not  over 
eight  inches  high,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
family  to  which  he  belonged.  In  fact  he  looked 
very  much  like  a  small  copy  of  Hooty  the  Great 
Horned  Owl,  so  much  so  that  Peter  felt  a  little  cold 
shiver  run  over  him,  although  he  had  nothing  in 
the  world  to  fear  from  Spooky. 

His  head  seemed  to  be  almost  as  big  around  as 
his  body,  and  he  seemed  to  have  no  neck  at  all.     He 

[315] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

was  dressed  in  bright  reddish-brown,  with  little 
streaks  and  bars  of  black.  Underneath  he  was 
whitish,  with  little  streaks  and  bars  of  black  and 
brown.  On  each  side  of  his  head  was  a  tuft  of 
feathers.  They  looked  like  ears  and  some  people 
think  they  are  ears,  which  is  a  mistake.  His  eyes 
were  round  and  yellow  with  a  fierce  hungry  look  in 
them.  His  bill  was  small  and  almost  hidden  among 
the  feathers  of  his  face,  but  it  was  hooked  just  like  the 
bill  of  Hooty.  As  he  settled  himself  he  turned  his 
head  around  until  he  could  look  squarely  behind 
him,  then  brought  it  back  again  so  quickly  that  to 
Peter  it  looked  as  if  it  had  gone  clear  around.  You 
see  Spooky's  eyes  are  fixed  in  their  sockets  and  he 
cannot  move  them  from  side  to  side.  He  has  to 
turn  his  whole  head  in  order  to  see  to  one  side  or  the 
other. 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet  why  you  look  so  un- 
happy, Peter, "  said  Spooky. 

"Isn't  an  empty  stomach  enough  to  make  any 
fellow  unhappy?"  retorted  Peter  rather. shortly. 

Spooky  chuckled.  "I've  got  an  empty  stomach 
myself,  Peter,"  said  he,  "but  it  isn't  making  me 
unhappy.  I  have  a  feeling  that  somewhere  there 
is  a  fat  Mouse  waiting  for  me. " 

Just  then  Peter  remembered  what  Jenny  Wren 
had  told  him  early  in  the  spring  of  how  Spooky 
the  Screech   Owl   lives  all  the  year  around  in  a 

[316] 


fouis/ljc-n  rz  tfljrfi 


■ 

SPOOKY    THE    SCREECH    OWL.      The   met  common  of   all  Owls,  some- 
times  reddish-brown  and  sometimes  gray. 


Peter  Learns  Something  About  Spooky 

hollow  tree,  and  curiosity  made  him  forget  for  the 
time  being  that  he  was  hungry.  "Did  you  live  in 
that  hole  all  summer,  Spooky  ?"  he  asked. 

Spooky  nodded  solemnly.  "I've  lived  in  that 
hollow  summer  and  winter  for  three  years, "  said  he. 

Peter's  eyes  opened  very  wide.  "And  till  now 
I  never  even  guessed  it, "  he  exclaimed.  "  Did  you 
raise  a  family  there  ?  " 

"I  certainly  did,':  replied  Spooky.  "Mrs. 
Spooky  and  I  raised  a  family  of  four  as  fine  looking 
youngsters  as  you  ever  have  seen.  They've  gone 
out  into  the  Great  World  to  make  their  own  living 
now.  Two  were  dressed  just  like  me  and  two  were 
gray." 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Peter. 

"I  said  that  two  were  dressed  just  like  me  and 
two  were  gray,"   replied  Spooky  rather  sharply. 

"That's  funny,"  Peter  exclaimed. 

"What's  funny  ?  "  snapped  Spooky  rather  crossly. 

'Why  that  all  four  were  not  dressed  alike," 
said  Peter. 

"There's  nothing  funny  about  it,"  retorted 
Spooky,  and  snapped  his  bill  sharply  with  a  little 
cracking  sound.  'We  Screech  Owls  believe  in 
variety.  Some  of  us  are  gray  and  some  of  us  are 
reddish-brown.  It  is  a  case  of  where  you  cannot 
tell  a  person  just  by  the  color  of  his  clothes. " 

Peter  nodded  as  if  he  quite  understood,  although 

[317] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

he  didn't  understand  at  all.  "I'm  ever  so  pleased 
to  find  you  living  here,"  said  he  politely.  "You 
see,  in  winter  the  Old  Orchard  is  rather  a  lonely 
place.  I  don't  see  how  you  get  enough  to  eat 
when  there  are  so  few  birds  about. " 

"Birds!"  snapped  Spooky.  "What  have  birds 
to  do  with  it?" 

"Why,  don't  you  live  on  birds?"  asked  Peter 
innocently. 

"I  should  say  not.  I  guess  I  would  starve  if  I 
depended  on  birds  for  my  daily  food,"  retorted 
Spooky.  "I  catch  a  Sparrow  now  and  then,  to  be 
sure,  but  usually  it  is  an  English  Sparrow,  and  I 
consider  that  I  am  doing  the  Old  Orchard  a  good 
turn  every  time  I  am  lucky  enough  to  catch  one  of 
the  family  of  Bully  the  English  Sparrow.  But  I 
live  mostly  on  Mice  and  Shrews  in  winter  and  in 
summer  I  eat  a  lot  of  grasshoppers  and  other  in- 
sects. If  it  wasn't  for  me  and  my  relatives  I  guess 
Mice  would  soon  overrun  the  Great  World.  Farmer 
Brown  ought  to  be  glad  I've  come  to  live  in  the 
Old  Orchard  and  I  guess  he  is,  for  Farmer  Brown's 
boy  knows  all  about  this  house  of  mine  and  never 
disturbs  me.  Now  if  you'll  excuse  me  I  think 
I'll  fly  over  to  Farmer  Brown's  young  orchard. 
I  ought  to  find  a  fat  Mouse  or  two  trying  to  get 
some  of  the  bark  from  those  young  trees." 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  Peter.     "They  can  try  all 

[  318  ] 


Peter  Learns  Something  About  Spooky 

they  want  to,  but  they  won't  get  any ;  I  can  tell 
you  that." 

Spooky's  round  yellow  eyes  twinkled.  "It 
must  be  you  have  been  trying  to  get  some  of  that 
bark  yourself,"  said  he. 

Peter  didn't  say  anything  but  he  looked  guilty, 
and  Spooky  once  more  chuckled  as  he  spread  his 
wings  and  flew  away  so  soundlessly  that  he  seemed 
more  like  a  drifting  shadow  than  a  bird.  Then 
Peter  started  for  a  certain  swamp  he  knew  of 
where  he  would  be  sure  to  find  enough  bark  to  stay 
his  appetite. 


[319] 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

QUEER  FEET  AND  A  QUEERER  BILL 

Peter  Rabbit  had  gone  over  to  the  Green  Forest 
to  call  on  his  cousin,  Jumper  the  Hare,  who  lives 
there  altogether.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  finding 
Juniper's  tracks  in  the  snow,  and  by  following 
these  he  at  length  came  up  with  Jumper.  The  fact 
is,  Peter  almost  bumped  into  Jumper  'before  he 
saw  him,  for  Jumper  was  wearing  a  coat  as  white 
as  the  snow  itself.  Squatting  under  a  little  snow- 
covered  hemlock-tree  he  looked  like  nothing  more 
than  a  little  mound  of  snow. 

"Oh!"  cried  Peter.  "How  you  startled  me! 
I  wish  I  had  a  white  coat  like  yours.  It  must  be  a 
great  help  in  avoiding  your  enemies." 

"It  certainly  is,  Cousin  Peter,"  cried  Jumper. 
"  Nine  times  out  of  ten  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  sit 
perfectly  still  when  there  was  no  wind  to  carry 
my  scent.  I  have  had  Reddy  Fox  pass  within  a 
few  feet  of  me  and  never  suspect  that  I  was  near. 
I  hope  this  snow  will  last  all  winter.  It  is  only 
when  there  isn't  any  snow  that  I  am  particularly 
worried.     Then  I  am  not  easy  for  a  minute,  be- 

[320] 


Queer  Feet  and  a  Queerer  Bill 

cause  my  white  coat  can  be  seen  a  long  distance 
against  the  brown  of  the  dead  leaves." 

Peter  chuckled.  "That  is  just  when  I  feel 
safest,"  he  replied.  "I  like  the  snow,  but  this 
brown-gray  coat  of  mine  certainly  does  show  up 
against  it.  Don't  you  find  it  pretty  lonesome  over 
here  in  the  Green  Forest  with  all  the  birds  gone, 
Cousin  Jumper?" 

Jumper  shook  his  head.  "Not  all  have  gone, 
Peter,  you  know,"  said  he.  "Strutter  the  Grouse 
and  Mrs.  Grouse  are  here,  and  I  see  them  every 
day.     They've  got  snowshoes  now. " 

Peter  blinked  his  eyes  and  looked  rather  per- 
plexed. "Snowshoes!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  don't 
understand  what  you  mean. " 

"Come  with  me,"  replied  Jumper,  "and  I'll 
show  you." 

So  Jumper  led  the  way  and  Peter  followed  close 
at  his  heels.  Presently  they  came  to  some  tracks 
in  the  snow.  At  first  glance  they  reminded  Peter 
of  the  queer  tracks  Farmer  Brown's  ducks  made  in 
the  mud  on  the  edge  of  the  Smiling  Pool  in  summer. 
"What  funny  tracks  those  are!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Who  made  them?" 

"Just  keep  on  following  me  and  you'll  see," 
retorted  Jumper. 

So  they  continued  to  follow  the  tracks  until 
presently,  just  ahead  of  them,  they  saw  Strutter 

[  3-21  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

the  Grouse.  Peter  opened  his  eyes  with  surprise 
when  he  discovered  that  those  queer  tracks  were 
made  by  Strutter. 

"Cousin  Peter  wants  to  see  your  snowshoes, 
Strutter, "  said  Jumper  as  they  came  up  with  him. 

Strutter's  bright  eyes  sparkled.  "He's  just  as 
curious  as  ever,  isn't  he?"  said  he.  "Well,  I 
don't  mind  showing  him  my  snowshoes  because  I 
think  myself  that  they  are  really  quite  wonder- 
ful.';  He  held  up  one  foot  with  the  toes  spread 
apart  and  Peter  saw  that  growing  out  from  the 
sides  of  each  toe  were  queer  little  horny  points  set 
close  together.  They  quite  filled  the  space  be- 
tween his  toes.  Peter  recalled  that  when  he  had 
seen  Strutter  in  the  summer  those  toes  had  been 
smooth  and  that  his  tracks  on  soft  ground  had 
shown  the  outline  of  each  toe  clearly.  "How 
funny !"  exclaimed  Peter. 

"There's  nothing  funny  about  them,"  retorted 
Strutter.  "If  Old  Mother  Nature  hadn't  given 
me  something  of  this  kind  I  certainly  would  have  a 
hard  time  of  it  when  there  is  snow  on  the  ground. 
If  my  feet  were  just  the  same  as  in  summer  I  would 
sink  right  down  in  when  the  snow  is  soft  and 
wouldn't  be  able  to  walk  about  at  all.  Now,  with 
these  snowshoes  I  get  along  very  nicely.  You  see 
I  sink  in  but  very  little. " 

He  took  three  or  four  steps  and  Peter  saw  right 

[322] 


Queer  Feet  and  a  Queerer  Bill 

away  how  very  useful  those  snowshoes  were. 
"My!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  wish  Old  Mother 
Nature  would  give  me  snowshoes  too."  Strutter 
and  Jumper  both  laughed  and  after  a  second  Peter 
laughed  with  them,  for  he  realized  how  impossible 
it  would  be  for  him  to  have  anything  like  those 
snowshoes  of  Strutter's. 

"Cousin  Peter  was  just  saying  that  he  should 
think  I  would  find  it  lonesome  over  here  in  the 
Green  Forest.  He  forgot  that  you  and  Mrs. 
Grouse  stay  all  winter,  and  he  forgot  that  while 
most  of  the  birds  who  spent  the  summer  here  have 
left,  there  are  others  who  come  down  from  the  Far 
North  to  take  their  place." 

"Who,  for  instance?"  demanded  Peter. 

"Snipper  the  Crossbill,"  replied  Jumper 
promptly.  "I  haven't  seen  him  yet  this  winter, 
but  I  know  he  is  here  because  only  this  morning  I 
found  some  pine  seeds  on  the  snow  under  a  certain 
tree." 

" Huh  ! "  Peter  exclaimed.  "That  doesn't  prove 
anything.  Those  seeds  might  have  just  fallen,  or 
Chatterer  the  Red  Squirrel  might  have  dropped 
them." 

"This  isn't  the  season  for  seeds  to  just  fall,  and 
I  know  by  the  signs  that  Chatterer  hasn't  been 
about,"  retorted  Jumper.  "Let's  go  over  there 
now  and  see  what  we  will  see. " 

[  323  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

Once  more  he  led  the  way  and  Peter  followed. 
As  they  drew  near  that  certain  pine-tree,  a  short 
whistled  note  caused  them  to  look  up.  Busily 
at  work  on  a  pine  cone  near  the  top  of  a  tree  was  a 
bird  about  the  size  of  Bully  the  English  Sparrow. 
He  was  dressed  wholly  in  dull  red  with  brownish- 
black  wings  and  tail. 

"What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  cried  Jumper.  "There's 
Snipper  this  very  minute,  and  over  in  that  next 
tree  are  a  lot  of  his  family  and  relatives.  See  in 
what  a  funny  way  they  climb  about  among  the 
branches.  They  don't  flit  or  hop,  but  just  climb 
around.  I  don't  know  of  any  other  bird  any- 
where around  here  that  does  that. " 

Just  then  a  seed  dropped  and  landed  on  the  snow 
almost  in  front  of  Peter's  nose.  Almost  at  once* 
Snipper  himself  followed  it,  picking  it  up  and  eat- 
ing it  with  as  much  unconcern  as  if  Peter  and 
Jumper  were  a  mile  away  instead  of  only  a  foot  or 
so.  The  very  first  thing  Peter  noticed  was  Snip- 
per's bill.  The  upper  and  lower  halves  crossed  at 
the  tips.  That  bill  looked  very  much  as  if  Snipper 
had  struck  something  hard  and  twisted  the  tips  over. 

"Have  —  have  —  you  met  with  an  accident?" 
he  asked  a  bit  hesitatingly. 

Snipper  looked  surprised.  "Are  you  talking  to 
me  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Whatever  put  such  an  idea  into 
your  head?" 

[324] 


Queer  Feet  and  a  Queerer  Bill 

"  Your  bill, "  replied  Peter  promptly.  "  How  did 
it  get  twisted  like  that  ?  " 

Snipper  laughed.  "It  isn't  twisted,"  said  he. 
"It  is  just  the  way  Old  Mother  Nature  made  it, 
and  I  really  don't  know  what  I'd  do  if  it  were  any 
different. " 

Peter  scratched  one  long  ear,  as  is  his  way  when 
he  is  puzzled.  "I  don't  see, 'r  said  he,  "how  it  is 
possible  for  you  to  pick  up  food  with  a  bill  like 
that." 

"And  I  don't  see  how  I  would  get  my  food  if  I 
didn't  have  a  bill  like  this,"  retorted  Snipper. 
Then,  seeing  how  puzzled  Peter  really  was,  he  went 
on  to  explain.  'You  see,  I  live  very  largely  on 
the  seeds  that  grow  in  pine  cones  and  the  cones  of 
other  trees.  Of  course  I  eat  some  other  food,  such 
as  seeds  and  buds  of  trees.  But  what  I  love  best 
of  all  are  the  seeds  that  grow  in  the  cones  of  ever- 
green trees.  If  you've  ever  looked  at  one  of  those 
cones,  you  will  understand  that  those  seeds  are  not 
very  easy  to  get  at.  But  with  this  kind  of  a  bill 
it  is  no  trouble  at  all.  I  can  snip  them  out  just  as 
easily  as  birds  with  straight  bills  can  pick  up 
seeds.  You  see  my  bill  is  very  much  like  a  pair 
of  scissors." 

"It  really  is  very  wonderful,"  confessed  Peter. 
"Do  you  mind  telling  me,  Snipper,  why  I  never 
have  seen  you  here  in  summer  ? " 

[325  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

' 'For  the  same  reason  that  in  summer  you 
never  see  Snowflake  and  Wanderer  the  Horned 
Lark  and  some  others  I  might  name,"  replied 
Snipper.  "Give  me  the  Far  North  every  time. 
I  would  stay  there  the  year  through  but  that 
sometimes  food  gets  scarce  up  there.  That  is  why 
I  am  down  here  now.  If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go 
finish  my  breakfast." 

Snipper  flew  up  in  the  tree  where  the  other 
Crossbills  were  at  work  and  Peter  and  Jumper 
watched  them. 

"I  suppose  you  know,"  said  Jumper,  "that 
Snipper  has  a  cousin  who  looks  almost  exactly 
like  him  with  the  exception  of  two  white  bars  on 
each  wing.  He  is  called  the  White-winged  Cross- 
bill. " 

"I  didn't  know  it, "  replied  Peter,  "but  I'm  glad 
you've  told  me.  I  certainly  shall  watch  out  for 
him.  I  can't  get  over  those  funny  bills.  No  one 
could  ever  mistake  a  Crossbill  for  any  other  bird. 
Is  there  anyone  else  now  from  the  Far  North  whom 
I  haven't  seen?" 


[326] 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

MORE    FOLKS    IN    RED 

Jumper  the  Hare  didn't  have  time  to  reply  to 
Peter  Rabbit's  question  when  Peter  asked  if  there 
was  any  one  else  besides  the  Crossbills  who  had 
come  down  from  the  Far  North. 

"I  have,"  said  a  voice  from  a  tree  just  back  of 
them. 

It  was  so  unexpected  that  it  made  both  Peter 
and  Jumper  hop  in  startled  surprise.  Then  they 
turned  to  see  who  had  spoken.  There  sat  a  bird 
just  a  little  smaller  than  Welcome  Robin,  who  at 
first  glance  seemed  to  be  dressed  in  strawberry-red. 
However,  a  closer  look  showed  that  there  were 
slate-gray  markings  about  his  head,  under  his  wings 
and  on  his  legs.  His  tail  was  brown.  His  wings 
were  brown,  marked  with  black  and  white  and 
slate.     His  bill  was  thick  and  rather  short. 

'Who  are  you?"  demanded  Peter  very  bluntly 
and  impolitely. 

"I'm  Piny  the  Pine  Grosbeak,"  replied  the 
stranger,  seemingly  not  at  all  put  out  by  Peter's 
bluntness. 

[327] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 


<t , 


Oh,"  said  Peter.  "Are  you  related  to  Rose- 
breast  the  Grosbeak  who  nested  last  summer  in  the 
Old  Orchard?" 

"I  certainly  am,"  replied  Piny.  "He  is  my 
very  own  cousin.  I've  never  seen  him  because  he 
never  ventures  up  where  I  live  and  I  don't  go 
down  where  he  spends  the  winter,  but  all  members 
of  the  Grosbeak  family  are  cousins. " 

"Rosebreast  is  very  lovely  and  I'm  very  fond  of 
him,"  said  Peter.     "We  are  very  good  friends." 

"Then  I  know  we  are  going  to  be  good  friends," 
replied  Piny.  As  he  said  this  he  turned  and  Peter 
noticed  that  his  tail  was  distinctly  forked  instead 
of  being  square  across  like  that  of  Welcome  Robin. 
Piny  whistled,  and  almost  at  once  he  was  joined  by 
another  bird  who  in  shape  was  just  like  him,  but 
who  was  dressed  in  slaty-gray  and  olive-yellow, 
instead  of  the  bright  red  that  he  himself  wore. 
Piny  introduced  the  newcomer  as  Mrs.  Gros- 
beak. 

"Lovely  weather,  isn't  it?"  said  she.  "I  love 
the  snow.  I  wouldn't  feel  at  home  with  no  snow 
about.  Why,  last  spring  I  even  built  my  nest 
before  the  snow  was  gone  in  the  Far  North.  We 
certainly  hated  to  leave  up  there,  but  food  was  get- 
ting so  scarce  that  we  had  to.  We  have  just  ar- 
rived. Can  you  tell  me  if  there  are  any  cedar- 
trees  or  ash-trees  or  sumacs  near  here  ?" 

[328] 


More  Folks  in  Red 

Peter  hastened  to  tell  her  just  where  she  would 
find  these  trees  and  then  rather  timidly  asked  why 
she  wanted  to  find  them. 

"Because  they  hold  their  berries  all  winter," 
replied  Mrs.  Grosbeak  promptly,  "and  those  ber- 
ries make  very  good  eating.  I  rather  thought 
there  must  be  some  around  here.  If  there  are 
enough  of  them  we  certainly  shall  stay  a  while." 

"I  hope  you  will,"  replied  Peter.  "I  want  to 
get  better  acquainted  with  you.  You  know,  if  it 
were  not  for  you  folks  who  come  down  from  the 
Far  North  the  Green  Forest  would  be  rather  a 
lonely  place  in  winter.  There  are  times  when  I 
like  to  be  alone,  but  I  like  to  feel  that  there  is  some- 
one I  can  call  on  when  I  feel  lonesome.  Did  you 
and  Piny  come  down  alone?" 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Grosbeak.  "There 
is  a  flock  of  our  relatives  not  far  away.  We  came 
down  with  the  Crossbills.  All  together  we  made 
quite  a  party. " 

Peter  and  Jumper  stayed  a  while  to  gossip  with 
the  Grosbeaks.  Then  Peter  bethought  him  that 
it  was  high  time  for  him  to  return  to  the  dear  Old 
Briar-patch,  and  bidding  his  new  friends  good-by, 
he  started  off  through  the  Green  Forest,  lipperty- 
lipperty-lip.  When  he  reached  the  edge  of  the 
Green  Forest  he  decided  to  run  over  to  the  weedy 
field  to  see  if  the  Snowflakes  and  the  Tree  Sparrows 

[329] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

and  the  Horned  Larks  were  there.  They  were, 
but  almost  at  once  Peter  discovered  that  they  had 
company.  Twittering  cheerfully  as  he  busily 
picked  seeds  out  of  the  top  of  a  weed  which  stood 
above  the  snow,  was  a  bird  very  little  bigger  than 
Chicoree  the  Goldfinch.  But  when  Peter  looked 
at  him  he  just  had  to  rub  his  eyes. 

"Gracious  goodness  !"  he  muttered,  "it  must  be 
something  is  wrong  with  my  eyes  so  that  I  am  seeing 
red.  I've  already  seen  two  birds  dressed  in  red  and 
now  there's  another.  It  certainly  must  be  my  eyes. 
There's  Dotty  the  Tree  Sparrow  over  there ;  I  hear 
his  voice.     I  wonder  if  he  will  look  red. " 

Peter  hopped  near  enough  to  get  a  good  look  at 
Dotty  and  found  him  dressed  just  as  he  should  be. 
That  relieved  Peter's  mind.  His  eyes  were  quite 
as  they  should  be.  Then  he  returned  to  look  at  the 
happy  little  stranger  still  busily  picking  seeds  from 
that  weed-top. 

The  top  of  his  head  was  bright  red.  There  was 
no  doubt  about  it.  His  back  was  toward  Peter  at 
the  time  and  but  for  that  bright  red  cap  Peter 
certainly  would  have  taken  him  for  one  of  his 
friends  among  the  Sparrow  family.  You  see  his 
back  was  grayish-brown.  Peter  could  think  of 
several  Sparrows  with  backs  very  much  like  it. 
But  when  he  looked  closely  he  saw  that  just  above 
his  tail  this  little  stranger  wore  a  pinkish  patch,  and 

[330] 


More  Folks  in  Red 

that  was  something  no  Sparrow  of  Peter's  acquaint- 
ance possesses. 

*  Then  the  lively  little  stranger  turned  to  face 
Peter  and  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  twinkled  mischiev- 
ously. "Well,"  said  he,  "how  do  you  like  my 
appearance?  Anything  wrong  with  me?  I  was 
taught  that  it  is  very  impolite  to  stare  at  any  one. 
I  guess  your  mother  forgot  to  teach  you  manners. " 

Peter  paid  no  attention  to  what  was  said  but 
continued  to  stare.  "My,  how  pretty  you  are!" 
he  exclaimed. 

The  little  stranger  was  pretty.  His  breast  was 
pink.  Below  this  he  was  white.  The  middle  of  his 
throat  was  black  and  his  sides  were  streaked  with 
reddish-brown.  He  looked  pleased  at  Peter's 
exclamation. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  I'm  pretty,"  said  he.  "I 
like  pink  myself.  I  like  it  very  much  indeed.  I 
suppose  you've  already  seen  my  friends,  Snipper 
the  Crossbill  and  Piny  the  Grosbeak. " 

Peter  promptly  bobbed  his  head.  "I've  just 
come  from  making  their  acquaintance,"  said  he. 
"By  the  way  you  speak,  I  presume  you  also  are 
from  the  Far  North.  I  am  just  beginning  to  learn 
that  there  are  more  folks  who  make  their  homes 
in  the  Far  North  than  I  had  dreamed  of.  If  you 
please,  I  don't  believe  I  know  you  at  all. '! 

"I'm  Redpoll,"  was  the  prompt  response.     "I 

[331] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

am  called  that  because  of  my  red  cap.  Yes, 
indeed,  I  make  my  home  in  the  Far  North.  There 
is  no  place  like  it.  You  really  ought  to  run  up 
there  and  get  acquainted  with  the  folks  who  make 
their  homes  there  and  love  it. " 

Redpoll  laughed  at  his  own  joke,  but  Peter  didn't 
see  the  joke  at  all.  "Is  it  so  very  far?"  he  asked 
innocently;  then  added,  "I'd  dearly  love  to  go." 

Redpoll  laughed  harder  than  ever.  "Yes,"  said 
he,  "it  is.  I  am  afraid  you  would  be  a  very  old 
and  very  gray  Rabbit  by  the  time  you  got  there. 
I  guess  the  next  thing  is  for  you  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  some  of  us  who  get  down  here  once 
in  a  while. " 

Redpoll  called  softly  and  almost  at  once  was 
joined  by  another  red-capped  bird  but  without  the 
pink  breast,  and  with  sides  more  heavily  streaked. 
"This  is  Mrs.  Redpoll,"  announced  her  lively  little 
mate.  Then  he  turned  to  her  and  added,  "I've 
just  been  telling  Peter  Rabbit  that  as  long  as  he 
cannot  visit  our  beautiful  Far  North  he  must  be- 
come acquainted  with  those  of  us  who  come  down 
here  in  the  winter.  I'm  sure  he'll  find  us  very 
friendly  folks." 

"I'm  sure  I  shall,"  said  Peter.  " If  you  please, 
do  you  live  altogether  on  these  weed  seeds?" 

Redpoll  laughed  his  usual  happy  laugh.  "  Hardly, 
Peter,"  replied  he.     "We  like  the  seeds  of  the 

[  SSI  ] 


More  Folks  in  Red 

birches  and  the  alders,  and  we  eat  the  seeds  of  the 
evergreen  trees  when  we  get  them.  Sometimes  we 
find  them  in  cones  Snipper  the  Crossbill  has  opened 
but  hasn't  picked  all  the  seeds  out  of.  Sometimes 
he  drops  some  for  us.  Oh,  we  always  manage  to  get 
plenty  to  eat.  There  are  some  of  our  relatives  over 
there  and  we  must  join  them.  We'll  see  you  again, 
Peter." 

Peter  said  he  hoped  they  would  and  then  watched 
them  fly  over  to  join  their  friends.  Suddenly,  as  if 
a  signal  had  been  given,  all  spread  their  wings  at 
the  same  instant  and  flew  up  in  a  birch-tree  not  far 
away.  All  seemed  to  take  wing  at  precisely  the 
same  instant.  Up  in  the  birch-tree  they  sat  for  a 
minute  or  so  and  then,  just  as  if  another  signal  had 
been  given,  all  began  to  pick  out  the  tiny  seeds 
from  the  birch  tassels.  No  one  bird  seemed  to  be 
first.  It  was  quite  like  a  drill,  or  as  if  each  had 
thought  of  the  same  thing  at  the  same  instant. 
Peter  chuckled  over  it  all  the  way  home.  And 
somehow  he  felt  better  for  having  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  Redpolls.  It  was  the  feeling 
that  everybody  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  them  on  a 
cold  winter's  day  is  sure  to  have. 


[333] 


CHAPTER  XLV 

PETER    SEES    TWO    TERRIBLE    FEATHERED    HUNTERS 

While  it  is  true  that  Peter  Rabbit  likes  winter, 
it  is  also  true  that  life  is  anything  but  easy  for  him 
at  that  season.  In  the  first  place  he  has  to  travel 
about  a  great  deal  to  get  sufficient  food,  and  that 
means  that  he  must  run  more  risks.  There  isn't 
a  minute  of  day  or  night  that  he  is  outside  of  the 
dear  Old  Briar-patch  when  he  can  afford  not  to 
watch  and  listen  for  danger.  You  see,  at  this 
season  of  the  year,  Reddy  Fox  often  finds  it 
difficult  to  get  a  good  meal.  He  is  hungry  most  of 
the  time,  and  he  is  forever  hunting  for  Peter  Rabbit. 
With  snow  on  the  ground  and  no  leaves  on  the 
bushes  and  young  trees,  it  is  not  easy  for  Peter  to 
hide.  So,  as  he  travels  about,  the  thought  of  Reddy 
Fox  is  always  in  his  mind. 

But  there  are  others  whom  Peter  fears  even  more, 
and  these  wear  feathers  instead  of  fur  coats.  One  of 
these  is  Terror  the  Goshawk.  Peter  is  not  alone 
in  his  fear  of  Terror.  There  is  not  one  among  his 
feathered  friends  who  will  not  shiver  at  the  mention 
of  Terror's  name.     Peter  will  not  soon  forget  the 

[334] 


Peter  Sees  Two  Terrible  Feathered  Hunters 

day  he  discovered  that  Terror  had  come  down  from 
the  Far  North,  and  was  likely  to  stay  for  the  rest 
of  the  winter.  Peter  went  hungry  all  the  rest  of 
that  day. 

You  see  it  was  this  way:  Peter  had  gone  over 
to  the  Green  Forest  very  early  that  morning  in 
the  hope  of  getting  breakfast  in  a  certain  swamp. 
He  was  hopping  along,  lipperty-lipperty-lip,  with 
his  thoughts  chiefly  on  that  breakfast  he  hoped  to 
get,  but  at  the  same  time  with  ears  and  eyes  alert 
for  possible  danger,  when  a  strange  feeling  swept 
over  him.  It  was  a  feeling  that  great  danger 
was  very  near,  though  he  saw  nothing  and  heard 
nothing  to  indicate  it.  It  was  just  a  feeling,  that 
was  all. 

Now  Peter  has  learned  that  the  wise  thing  to  do 
when  one  has  such  a  feeling  as  that  is  to  seek  safety 
first  and  investigate  afterwards.  At  the  instant 
he  felt  that  strange  feeling  of  fear  he  was  passing  a 
certain  big,  hollow  log.  Without  really  knowing 
why  he  did  it,  because,  you  know,  he  didn't  stop 
to  do  any  thinking,  he  dived  into  that  hollow  log, 
and  even  as  he  did  so  there  was  the  sharp  swish  of 
great  wings.  Terror  the  Goshawk  had  missed 
catching  Peter  by  the  fraction  of  a  second. 

With  his  heart  thumping  as  if  it  were  trying  to 
pound  its  way  through  his  ribs,  Peter  peeped  out  of 
that  hollow  log.     Terror  had  alighted  on  a  tall 

[335] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Book  for  Children 

stump  only  a  few  feet  away.  To  Peter  in  his  fright 
he  seemed  the  biggest  bird  he  ever  had  seen.  Of 
course  he  wasn't.  Actually  he  was  very  near  the 
same  size  as  Redtail  the  Hawk,  whom  Peter  knew 
well.  He  was  handsome.  There  was  no  denying 
the  fact  that  he  was  handsome.  His  back  was 
bluish.  His  head  seemed  almost  black.  Over  and 
behind  each  eye  was  a  white  line.  Underneath  he 
was  beautifully  marked  with  wavy  bars  of  gray 
and  white.  On  his  tail  were  four  dark  bands.  Yes, 
he  was  handsome.  But  Peter  had  no  thought  for 
his  beauty.  He  could  see  nothing  but  the  fierceness 
of  the  eyes  that  were  fixed  on  the  entrance  to  that 
hollow  log.  Peter  shivered  as  if  with  a  cold  chill. 
He  knew  that  in  Terror  was  no  pity  or  gentleness. 

"I  hope,"  thought  Peter,  "that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grouse  are  nowhere  about. ' '  You  see  he  knew  that 
there  is  no  one  that  Terror  would  rather  catch  than 
a  member  of  the  Grouse  family. 

Terror  did  not  sit  on  that  stump  long.  He  knew 
that  Peter  was  not  likely  to  come  out  in  a  hurry. 
Presently  he  flew  away,  and  Peter  suspected  from 
the  direction  in  which  he  was  headed  that  Terror 
was  going  over  to  visit  Farmer  Brown's  henyard. 
Of  all  the  members  of  the  Hawk  family  there  is  none 
more  bold  than  Terror  the  Goshawk.  He  would 
not  hesitate  to  seize  a  hen  from  almost  beneath 
Farmer   Brown's  nose.     He   is   well   named,   for 

[336] 


Peter  Sees  Tivo  Terrible  Feathered  Hunters 

the  mere  suspicion  that  he  is  anywhere  about 
strikes  terror  to  the  heart  of  all  the  furred  and 
feathered  folks.  He  is  so  swift  of  wing  that  few 
can  escape  him,  and  he  has  no  pity,  but  kills  for  the 
mere  love  of  killing.  In  this  respect  he  is  like 
Shadow  the  Weasel.  To  kill  for  food  is  forgiven  by 
the  little  people  of  the  Green  Forest  and  the  Green 
Meadows,  but  to  kill  needlessly  is  unpardonable. 
This  is  why  Terror  the  Goshawk  is  universally 
hated  and  has  not  a  single  friend. 

All  that  day  Peter  remained  hidden  in  that 
hollow  log.  He  did  not  dare  put  foot  outside  until 
the  Black  Shadows  began  to  creep  through  the 
Green  Forest.  Then  he  knew  that  there  was  noth- 
ing more  to  fear  from  Terror  the  Goshawk,  for 
he  hunts  only  by  day.  Once  more  Peter's  thoughts 
were  chiefly  of  his  stomach,  for  it  was  very,  very 
empty. 

But  it  was  not  intended  that  Peter  should  fill  his 
stomach  at  once.  He  had  gone  but  a  little  way 
when  from  just  ahead  of  him  the  silence  of  the 
early  evening  was  broken  by  a  terrifying  sound  — 
"Whooo-hoo-hoo,  whooo-hoo  !"  It  was  so  sudden 
and  there  was  in  it  such  a  note  of  fierceness  that 
Peter  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  from  jumping  and 
running  for  dear  life.  But  he  knew  that  voice  and 
he  knew,  too,  that  safety  lay  in  keeping  perfectly 
still.     So  with  his  heart  thumping  madly,  as  when 

[  SS7  ] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

he  had  escaped  from  Terror  that  morning,  Peter 
sat  as  still  as  if  he  could  not  move. 

It  was  the  hunting  call  of  Hooty  the  Great 
Horned  Owl,  and  it  had  been  intended  to  frighten 
some  one  into  jumping  and  running,  or  at  least 
into  moving  ever  so  little.  Peter  knew  all  about 
that  trick  of  Hooty's.  He  knew  that  in  all  the 
Green  Forest  there  are  no  ears  so  wonderful  as 
those  of  Hooty  the  Owl,  and  that  the  instant  he  had 
uttered  that  fierce  hunting  call  he  had  strained 
those  wonderful  ears  to  catch  the  faintest  sound 
which  some  startled  little  sleeper  of  the  night  might 
make.  The  rustle  of  a  leaf  would  be  enough  to 
bring  Hooty  to  the  spot  on  his  great  silent  wings, 
and  then  his  fierce  yellow  eyes,  which  are  made 
for  seeing  in  the  dusk,  would  find  the  victim. 

So  Peter  sat  still,  fearful  that  the  very  thumping 
of  his  heart  might  reach  those  wonderful  ears. 
Again  that  terrible  hunting  cry  rang  out,  and  again 
Peter  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  from  jumping. 
But  he  didn't  jump,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  as  he 
sat  staring  at  a  certain  tall,  dead  stub  of  a  tree, 
wondering  just  where  Hooty  was,  the  top  of  that 
stub  seemed  to  break  off,  and  a  great,  broad-winged 
bird  flew  away  soundlessly  like  a  drifting  shadow. 
It  was  Hooty  himself.  Sitting  perfectly  straight 
on  the  top  of  that  tall,  dead  stub  he  had  seemed 
a  part  of  it,    Peter  waited  some  time  before  he 

[338] 


Peter  Sees  Two  Terrible  Feathered  Hunters 

ventured  to  move.  Finally  he  heard  Hooty's 
hunting  call  in  a  distant  part  of  the  Green  Forest, 
and  knew  that  it  was  safe  for  him  to  once  more 
think  of  his  empty  stomach. 

Later  in  the  winter  while  the  snow  still  lay  in  the 
Green  Forest,  and  the  ice  still  bound  the  Laughing 
Brook,  Peter  made  a  surprising  discovery.  He 
was  over  in  a  certain  lonely  part  of  the  Green 
Forest  when  he  happened  to  remember  that  near 
there  was  an  old  nest  which  had  once  belonged  to 
Redtail  the  Hawk.  Out  of  idle  curiosity  Peter  ran 
over  for  a  look  at  that  old  nest.  Imagine  how 
surprised  he  was  when  just  as  he  came  within  sight 
of  it,  he  saw  a  great  bird  just  settling  down  on  it. 
Peter's  heart  jumped  right  up  in  his  throat.  At 
least  that  is  the  way  it  seemed,  for  he  recognized 
Mrs.  Hooty. 

Of  course  Peter  stopped  right  where  he  was  and 
took  the  greatest  care  not  to  move  or  make  a  sound. 
Presently  Hooty  himself  appeared  and  perched  in  a 
tree  near  at  hand.  Peter  has  seen  Hooty  many 
times  before,  but  always  as  a  great,  drifting  shadow 
in  the  moonlight.  Now  he  could  see  him  clearly. 
As  he  sat  bolt  upright  he  seemed  to  be  of  the  same 
height  as  Terror  the  Goshawk,  but  with  a  very 
much  bigger  body.  If  Peter  had  but  known  it,  his 
appearance  of  great  size  was  largely  due  to  the 
fluffy  feathers  in  which  Hooty  was  clothed.     Like 

[339] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

his  small  cousin,  Spooky  the  Screech  Owl,  Hooty 
seemed  to  have  no  neck  at  all.  He  looked  as  if 
his  great  head  was  set  directly  on  his  shoulders. 
From  each  side  of  his  head  two  great  tufts  of 
feathers  stood  out  like  ears  or  horns.  His  bill  was 
sharply  hooked.  He  was  dressed  wholly  in  red- 
dish-brown with  little  buff  and  black  markings, 
and  on  his  throat  was  a  white  patch.  His  legs 
were  feathered,  and  so  were  his  feet  clear  to  the 
great  hooked  claws. 

But  it  was  on  the  great,  round,  fierce,  yellow  eyes 
that  Peter  kept  his  own  eyes.  He  had  always 
thought  of  Hooty  as  being  able  to  see  only  in  the 
dusk  of  evening  or  on  moonlight  nights,  but 
somehow  he  had  a  feeling  that  even  now  in  broad 
daylight  Hooty  could  see  perfectly  well,  and  he  was 
quite  right. 

For  a  long  time  Peter  sat  there  without  moving. 
He  dared  not  do  anything  else.  After  he  had 
recovered  from  his  first  fright  he  began  to  wonder 
what  Hooty  and  Mrs.  Hooty  were  doing  at  that  old 
nest.  His  curiosity  was  aroused.  He  felt  that  he 
simply  must  find  out.  By  and  by  Hooty  flew 
away.  Very  carefully,  so  as  not  to  attract  the 
attention  of  Mrs.  Hooty,  Peter  stole  back  the  way 
he  had  come.  When  he  was  far  enough  away  to 
feel  reasonably  safe,  he  scampered  as  fast  as  ever  he 
could.     He  wanted  to  get  away  from  that  place, 

[340] 


Peter  Sees  Two  Terrible  Feaihered  Hunters 

and  he  wanted  to  find  some  one  of  whom  he  could 
ask  questions. 

Presently  he  met  his  cousin,  Jumper  the  Hare, 
and  at  once  in  a  most  excited  manner  told  him  all  he 
had  seen. 

Jumper  listened  until  Peter  was  through.  "If 
you'll  take  my  advice,"  said  he,  "you'll  keep 
away  from  that  part  of  the  Green  Forest,  Cousin 
Peter.  From  what  you  tell  me  it  is  quite  clear  to 
me  that  the  Hooties  have  begun  nesting." 

"Nesting  !"  exclaimed  Peter.  "Nesting  !  Why, 
gentle  Mistress  Spring  will  not  get  here  for  a  month 
yet!" 

"I  said  nesting"  retorted  Jumper,  speaking 
rather  crossly,  for  you  see  he  did  not  like  to  have 
his  word  doubted.  "Hooty  the  Great  Horned 
Owl  doesn't  wait  for  Mistress  Spring.  He  and 
Mrs.  Hooty  believe  in  getting  household  cares  out 
of  the  way  early.  Along  about  this  time  of  year 
they  hunt  up  an  old  nest  of  Redtail  the  Hawk  or 
Blacky  the  Crow  or  Chatterer  the  Red  Squirrel, 
for  they  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  build  a  nest 
themselves.  Then  Mrs.  Hooty  lays  her  eggs  while 
there  is  still  snow  and  ice.  Why  their  youngsters 
don't  catch  their  death  from  cold  when  they  hatch 
out  is  more  than  I  can  say.  But  they  don't.  I'm 
sorry  to  hear  that  the  Hooties  have  a  nest  here  this 
year.     It  means  a  bad  time  for  a  lot  of  little  folks 

[341] 


The  Burgess  Bird  Booh  for  Children 

in  feathers  and  fur.  I  certainly  shall  keep  away 
from  that  part  of  the  Green  Forest,  and  I  advise 
you  to." 

i  Peter  said  that  he  certainly  should,  and  then 
started  on  for  the  dear  Old  Briar-patch  to  think 
things  over.  The  discovery  that  already  the 
nesting  season  of  a  new  year  had  begun  turned 
Peter's  thoughts  towards  the  coming  of  sweet 
Mistress  Spring  and  the  return  of  his  many 
feathered  friends  who  had  left  for  the  far-away 
South  so  long  before.  A  great  longing  to  hear 
the  voices  of  Welcome  Robin  and  Winsome  Blue- 
bird and  Little  Friend  the  Song  Sparrow  swept 
over  him,  and  a  still  greater  longing  for  a  bit  of 
friendly  gossip  with  Jenny  Wren.  In  the  past  year 
he  had  learned  much  about  his  feathered  neighbors, 
but  there  were  still  many  things  he  wanted  to  know, 
things  which  only  Jenny  Wren  could  tell  him.  He 
was  only  just  beginning  to  find  out  that  no  one 
knows  all  there  is  to  know,  especially  about  the 
birds.     And  no  one  ever  will. 


[342] 


INDEX 

Banker  the  Bank  Swallow,  162-164 
Blackbird    Family,    84-86 
Blackbird 

Crow,    140-143 

Red- winged ;  Redwing ;  (Agelaius  phceniceus)  69-73 
Blacky  the  Crow,  121-122,  128-130 
Bluebird 

Winsome  Bluebird ;  (Sialia  sialis)  30-34 
Bobolink 

Reedbird;  Ricebird;   Bubbling  Bob;    (Dolichonyx  oryzi- 
vorus)    94-97 
Bob  White 

Quail ;    Partridge ;    (Colinus    virginianus)    98,    102-105 
Boomer   the   Nighthawk,    168-172 
Brownie  the  Thrasher,   222-225 
Bubbling   Bob   the   Bobolink,    94-97 
Bully  the  English   Sparrow,   8-13 
Bunting 

Snow;    Snowbird;    Snowflake;    (Plectrophenax    nivalis) 
307-309 

Indigo-bird;    Indigo;    (Passerina   cyanea)    242-244 
Butcher  the  Shrike,   261-264 

Cardinal 

Cardinal  Grosbeak;  Red  Bird;  Glory;  (Cardinalis  cardi- 
nalis)  199-201 
Carol  the  Meadow  Lark,  99-102 
Chebec  the  Least  Flycatcher,  42-45,  84-85,   122-124 

[343] 


Index 

Cherry  Bird,  272-275 
Chewink  the  Towhee,   238-242 
Chickadee 

Tommy  Tit;  (Paras  atricapillas)  278-283 
Chicoree   the    Goldfinch,    248-252 
Chippy  the   Chipping  Sparrow,   23-27 
Chuck-will's-widow,  174 

Chut-Chut  the  Yellow-breasted  Chat,  187-189 
Cowbird 

Lazybird;    Cow  Blackbird;  Sally  Sly;   (Molothrus  ater) 
83-87,   179-180,  217-218 
Creaker  the   Grackle,    140-143 
Creeper  the  Black  and  White  Warbler,  183-185 
Creeper 

Brown;  Seep-Seep;   (Certhia  familiaris  americana)  298- 
298 
Cresty  the  Great  Crested  Flycatcher,  50-53,  56-58 
Crossbill 

American  Crossbill;  Snipper;   (Loxia  curvirostra  minor) 
323-326 

White- winged ;  (Loxia  leucoptera)  326 
Crow 

American;  Blacky;    (Corvus  americanus)  121-122,   128- 
130 
Cuckoo 

Yellow-billed;  (Coccyzus  americanus)  257-260 

Black-billed;   (Coccyzus  erythrophthalmus)   259 

Dandy   the   Waxwing,    272-275 

Dear   Me  the  Phcebe,   38-42 

Dippy   the   Loon,    289-291 

Dotty  the  Tree  Sparrow,  26-27,  298-302 

Dove 

Mourning;    Mourner;    (Zenaidura  macroura)  253-257 
Downy  the  Woodpecker,  77-79 

[344] 


Index 

Eagle 

Bald-headed;    White-headed;    King    Eagle;    (Haliseetus 
leucocephalus)  147-150 

Fidget  the  Myrtle  Warbler,  193-198 
Finch 

Goldfinch ;     Wild    Canary ;     Chicoree ;     (Spinus     tristis) 

248-252 
Purple  Finch ;  Linnet ;  (Carpodacus  purpureus)  246-249 
Flicker 

Golden- winged ;     High-hole;     Yellow-hammer;     Golden- 
winged  Woodpecker;       Yellow  Wing;  (Colaptes  aura- 
tus)    74-76,    80-81 
Flycatcher 

Great  Crested ;  Cresty ;  (Myiarchus  crinitus)  50-53,  56-58 
Kingbird ;  Bee  Martin ;  Scrapper ;   (Tyrannus  tyrannus) 

46-50 
Least ;    Chebec ;     (Empidonax    minimus)    42-45,    84-85, 

122-124 
Phoebe ;  Dear  Me ;  (Sayornis  phcebe)  38-42 
Wood  Pewee ;  Pewee ;  (Contopus  virens)  54-56 
Forktail  the  Barn  Swallow,  114-117 

Glory  the  Cardinal,  199-201 
Goldfinch 

American ;  Wild  Canary ;  Thistle-bird ;  Chicoree ;  (Spinus 
tristis)  248-252 
Goldy  the  Oriole,  87-89 
Goose 

Canada;  Honker;  (Branta  canadensis)  285-291 
Goshawk 

American;   Terror;    (Accipiter   atricapillus)    334-337 
Grackle 

Purple;    Crow    Blackbird;    Creaker;     (Quiscalus    quis- 
cula)    140-143 

1  [  345  ] 


Index 

Grosbeak 

Pine;  Piny;  (Pinicola  enucleator)  327-329 
Rose-breasted;  Rosebreast;  (Habia  ludoviciana)  206-208 

Grouse 
Ruffed;  Partridge;  Pheasant;  Strutter;  (Bonasa   umbel- 
lus)  136-140,  321-323 

Hairy  the  Woodpecker,  79 
Hawk 

Red-tailed ;  Hen  Hawk ;  Chicken  Hawk ;  Redtail ;  (Buteo 
borealis),  134-135 

Sparrow;  Killy;  (Falco  sparverius)  165-167 
Hermit  the  Hermit  Thrush,  233 
Heron 

Great  Blue ;  Blue  Crane ;  Longlegs ;  (Ardea  herodias)  152- 
156,  160 
Honker  the  Goose,  285-291 
Hooty  the  Great  Horned  Owl,  337-341 
Hummingbird 

Ruby-throated;  Hummer;   (Trochilus  colubris)   265-268 

Indigo  the  Indigo  Bunting,  242-244 

Jay 

Blue;  Sammy  Jay;  (Cyanocitta  cristata)  123-127 
Jenny  Wren,  2-19,  34-37,  60,  245-246 
Junco 

Snowbird;  Slaty;  (Junco  hyemalis)  302-304  >v 

Killy  the  Sparrow  Hawk,  165-167 
Kingbird,  46-50 
King  Eagle,   147-150 
Kingfisher 

Belted;  Rattles;  (Ceryle  alcyon)  151-158,  164 

[346] 


Index 

Lark 

Meadow   Lark;   Field   Lark;   Carol;    (Sturnella  magna) 
99-102 

Horned  Lark ;  Shore  Lark ;  Wanderer ;  (Otocoris  alpestris) 
309-312 
Linnet  the  Purple  Finch,  246-249 
Little  Friend  the  Song  Sparrow,  17-20 
Longbill  the  Woodcock,  62-65 
Longlegs  the  Heron,  152-156,  160 
Loon 

Dippy;  (Urinator  imber)  289-291 

Martin 

Purple;  Twitter;  (Progne  subis)  114 
Melody  the  Wood  Thrush,  230-233 
Mockingbird 

Mocker;  (Mimus  po  yg  ottos)  225-228 
Mourner  the  Dove,  253-257 
Mummer  the  Maryland  Yellow-throat,  185-189 

Nighthawk 

Bullbat;   Boomer;    (Chordeiles   virginianus)    168-172 
Nuthatch 

White-breasted;  Yank- Yank;  (Sitta  canadensis)  293-298 

Oriole 

Baltimore ;  Golden  Robin ;  Fire  Bird ;   Goldy ;   (Icterus 

galbula)   87-89 
Orchard;  Weaver;  (Icterus  spurius)  90-92 
Osprey 

American;    Fish    Hawk;    Plunger;     (Pandion    halieetus 
carolinensis)    144-149 
Oven   Bird 

Golden-crowned  Thrush ;  Teacher ;  (Seiurus  aurocapillus) 
130-133 

[347] 


Index 

Owl 

Great  Horned;  Hooty;  (Bubo  virginianus)  337-341 
Screech;  Spooky;  (Megascops  asio)  314-319 

Pewee,  54-56 

Phoebe,  38-42 

Piny  the  Pine  Grosbeak,  327-329 

Plunger  the  Osprey,   144-149 

Quail,   98,   102-105 

Rattles  the  Kingfisher,  151-158,  164 
Redcoat  the  Scarlet  Tanager,  210-214 
Redeye  the  Vireo,  215-219 
Redhead  the  Woodpecker,   80-82 
Redpoll;   (Acanthis  linaria)   330-333 
Redstart,    176-178 
Redwing  the  Blackbird,  69-73 
Robin 

American;  Welcome  Robin;  (Merula  migratoria)  30-37 j 
Rosebreast  the  Grosbeak,  206-214 

Sally  Sly  the  Cowbird,  83-87,  179-180,  217-218 
Sandpiper 

Spotted;  Teeter;  (Actitis  macularia)  66-68 
Sammy  Jay,   123-127 
Scrapper  the  Kingbird,  46-50 
Scratcher  the  Fox  Sparrow,  20-21 
Seep-Seep  the  Brown  Creeper,  296-298 
Shrike 

Loggerhead;  Butcher;   (Lanius  ludovicianus)   261-264 

Northern;  (Lanius  borealis)  264 
Skimmer  the  Swallow,  106-110,  113-119 
Slaty  the  Junco,  802-804 

[S48] 


Index 

Snipper  the  Crossbill,  323-326 

Snowflake  the  Snow  Bunting,  307-309 

Sooty  the  Chimney  Swift,  108-112 

Sparrow 

Chipping;  Hair-bird;  Chippy;  (Spizella  socialis)  23-27 
English ;  European ;  House ;  Bully ;   (Passer  dornesticus) 

8-13 
Fox;  Scratcher;  (Passerella  iliaca)  20-21 
Song;  Little  Friend;   (Melospiza  fasciata)   17-20 
Tree;  Winter  Chippy;  Dotty;   (Spizella  monticola)   26- 

27,   298-302 
Vesper ;    Grass    Finch ;     Sweetvoice ;     (Poocsetes    grami- 

neus)   27-29 
White-throated;   Peabody-bird ;    Whitethroat;    (Zonotri- 
chia  albicollis)    19-20 

Speckles  the  Starling,  269-272 

Spooky  the  Screech  Owl,  314-319 

Sprite  the  Parula  Warbler,  191-194 

Starling 

English ;  Speckles ;  (Sturnus  vulgaris)  269-272 

Strutter  the  Grouse,  136-140,  321-323 

Sunshine  the  Yellow  Warbler,   178-182 

Swallow 

Bank;  Banker;  (Clivicola  riparia)   162-164 
Barn;    Forktail;    (Chelidon  erythrogaster)  114-117 
Tree;  White-bellied;  White-breasted;  Skimmer;  (Tachy- 
cineta  bicolor)   106-110,   113-119 

Sweetvoice  the  Vesper  Sparrow,  27-29 

Swift 

Chimney ;  Chimney  Swallow ;  Sooty ;  (Chsetura  pelagica) 
108-112 

Tanager 

Scarlet;  Redcoat;  (Piranga  erythromelas)  210-214 
Teacher  the  Oven  Bird,  130-133 

[349] 


Index 

Teeter  the  Sandpiper,  66-68 

Thrasher 

Brown ;  Brown  Thrush ;  Brownie ;  (Harporhynchus  ruf us) 
222-225 

Thrush 

Hermit;  (Turdus  aonalaschkae  pallasii)  233 

Wilson's;  Tawny;  Veery;  (Turdus  fuscescens)  234-236 

Wood ;  Melody ;  (Turdus  mustelinus)  230-233 

Tommy  Tit  the  Chickadee,  278-283 

Towhee 

Ground  Robin ;  Chewink ;  (Pipilo  erythrophthalmus)  238- 
242 

Veery  the  Thrush,  234-236 

Vireo 

Red-eyed;  Redeye;  (Vireo  olivaceus)  215-219 
Warbling;  Warble;   (Vireo  gilvus)   219-220 
Yellow- throated ;  (Vireo  flavifrons)  220-221 

Wanderer  the  Horned  Lark,  309-312 
Warble  the  Vireo,  219-220 
Warbler 

Black  and  White;  Black  and  White  Creeper;  Creeper; 

(Mniotilta  varia)  183-185 
Magnolia ;  Weechi ;    (Dendroica  maculosa)    193-198 
Myrtle;  Fidget;  (Dendroica  coronata)   193-198 
Parula;  Sprite;  (Compsothlypis  americana)  190-194 
Redstart;  Zee-Zee;  (Setophaga  ruticilla)   176-178 
Yellow-breasted  Chat;  Chut-Chut;  (Icteria  virens)  187- 

189 
Yellow-throat ;  Maryland  Yellow-throat ;  Mummer ;  (Geo- 
thlypis   trichas)    185-189 
,  Yellow  Warbler;  Summer  Yellow-bird;  Sunshine;  (Den- 
droica sestiva)    178-182 

[  350  ]  .' 


Index 

Waxwing 

Cedar ;  Cedarbird ;  Cherrybird  ;  Dandy ;  (Ampelis  cedro- 
rum)  272-275 
Weaver  the  Orchard  Oriole,  90-92 
Weechi  the  Magnolia  Warbler,  193-198 
Welcome  Robin,   30-37 
Winsome  Bluebird,  30-34 

WThip-poor-will ;   (Antrostomus  vociferus)   172-174 
Wliitethroat  the  Sparrow,   19-20 
Woodcock 

American ;  Longbill ;  (Philohela  minor)  62-65 
Woodpecker 

Downy;   (Dryobates  pubescens)   77-79 

Hairy;   (Dryobates  villosus)   79 

Red-headed;    Redhead;     (Melanerpes    erythrocephalus) 
80-82 
Wren 

House ;  Jenny  Wren ;  (Troglodytes  aedon)  2-19,  34-37, 
60,  245-246 

Yank- Yank  the  Nuthatch,  293-298 
Yellow  Wing  the  Flicker,  74-76,  80-81 

Zee-Zee  the  Redstart,  176-178 


[351] 


"Green  Meadow  Series" 


HAPPY  JACK 


By  THORNTON  W.  BURGESS 

Author  of  "Mother  West  Wind  Series," 
"The  Bedtime  Story-Books,"  etc. 

With  eight  illustrations  in  color  by  Harrison  Cady 

Crown  8vo.     $1.35  net. 

One  of  Mother  Nature's  thriftiest  little  people  is 
Happy  Jack  Squirrel.  He  is  a  long-headed  little 
chap  who  plays  with  might  and  main  and  has  just 
the  best  time  in  the  world,  but  he  also  works  with 
might  and  main,  especially  when  he  is  storing  up 
his  winter  supplies  and  getting  ready  for  the  cold, 
bleak  days  when  food  is  scarce  and  hard  to  find. 

Mr.  Burgess  is  well  acquainted  with  Happy  Jack's 
thrifty  habits,  and  tells  all  about  them  in  his  new 
book.  Also  he  tells  of  the  adventures  that  befell 
Happy  Jack  during  one  winter  of  his  busy  little  life 
when  his  enemy  the  Weasel  and  his  friends  Tommy 
Tit  the  Chickadee,  Sammy  Jay,  and  Farmer 
Brown's  boy  all  had  a  hand  in  Happy  Jack's  affairs. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers 

34  Beacon  Street,  Boston 


'Green  Meadow  Series' 


MRS.  PETER  RABBIT 


By  THORNTON  W.  BURGESS 

Author  of  "Mother  West  Wind  Series," 
"The  Bedtime  Story-Books,"  etc. 

Eight  illustrations  in  color  by  Harrison  Cady 
Crown  8vo.     $1.35  net. 


Peter  Rabbit  grew  very  unhappy  and  lonesome 
in. his  Old  Briar-patch  one  spring  day,  and  he  de- 
cided to '.  visit '  the  Old  Pasture  in  .search  of  new 
friends  and  experiences.  So  off  he  went,  lipperty- 
lipperty-lip.  But  up  in  the  Old  Pasture,  trouble  was 
waiting  for  Peter,  for  he  found  big,  gray,  old  Jed 
Thumper,  who  tried  to  drive  Peter  home.  Perhaps 
Peter  would  not  have  stayed,  if  he  had  not  met 
Little  Miss  Fuzzy  tail,  but  he  liked  her  so  well  that 
he  would  not  leave  until  she  had  promised  to  go  with 
him.  Finally  she  agreed  to  become  Mrs.  Peter 
Rabbit,  and  off  the  two  went,  back  to  the  Old 
Briar-patch. 

Here  Mrs.  Peter  set  up  housekeeping,  and  Mr. 
Burgess  tells  how  she  made  Peter's  old  friends  hers, 
and  how  she  helped  and  advised  him,  and  how  they 
brought  up  their  family  of  four  cunning,  furry,  little 
baby  rabbits. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers 

34  Beacon  Street,  Boston. 


